


Props to the Proppies

by PenNameArtist



Series: The Prop Calendar [1]
Category: Planes (Movies)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 31,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22652155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenNameArtist/pseuds/PenNameArtist
Summary: 2020 Planes shorts and drabbles, and pieces I want to hide from story exposure. You'll have to dig a little, but I have marked chapters based on their relevant characters for ease of access. I'll also add chapter ratings to the titles so you innocent birds can skip what you want to skip.Yes, there's some E stuff in here. There's also plenty of fluffy, light-hearted G-rated things too. Just pick your favorites, these conform to virtually no order or timeline. They don't even conform to the same headcanon anymore.
Series: The Prop Calendar [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046365
Comments: 144
Kudos: 39





	1. Day of the Dead [PPAA] - G

They had known this day was coming from the moment that the coffee pot started rattling each morning, practically spitting out a pot of joe spitefully as it was worn thin. There was no telling just how many times it was run in a single day; outside of “The Gathering” each morning, in which every member on campus had between one and three decently sized mugs worth, there were still treadfulls of incidents when teammates came back for another mid-day cup, or three. Blade in particular held up a habit of evening-drinking - he didn’t sleep anyway, and nightworking was something he preferred, since it was usually quieter and less stress-inducing. Usually.

July, however, put the caffeine laborer to the ultimate test. In that month alone, there were at least five whole cans of coffee grains downed, and with two of the base’s residence being temporarily grounded as they recovered from recent injuries, one of which being an additional firefighter on base for training, there were even more daily go-backs than usual.

It was inevitable, but still overwhelmingly surprising to the team, the day the coffee pot died. It rattled and whined, and then finally after five minutes of attempting to finish the job, it gave up, with a loud ‘clunk!’ and a hiss of steam spewing out from the sides. It was done.

It was also the only one they had on base. And it had chosen to die that morning, before anyone had even gotten a cup out of it.

In a nutshell, all hell broke loose in the Piston Peak Air Attack.

Still half-asleep and starting on a cup of low-grade - yes, because alcohol in the morning is such a great decision - Maru tried to beat the old pot back together. But every part of it was too old and tattered, and practically fell apart the moment it was taken out. Slamming the thing on the desk, he finally gave up on it.

Go get a damn new one..” He grumbled to Blade, probably more snappy than he should’ve been, but no one was awake anyways. Saying that they needed anything ‘new’ was already breaking his lifelong code. The helicopter, just as half-asleep and seriously debating a can of one of those low-grades, just growled a reply and took off.

He was gone a couple hours. The nearest hardware store they knew of - and remotely trusted - was in Sacramento. Sending Blade was probably the best call because he didn’t get lost in a store the way that Dipper did, and he didn’t try to bargain for scrap items in the back like Maru. He also had everyone’s best interests in mind when it came to finding a coffee pot that they could beat the ever living daylights out of. Nobody cared about making lattes with the thing anyways.

By the time he was back, most of the team was ready to murder each other, but surprisingly no fights had broken out – yet. Cabbie and Windlifter primarily were making sure of that.

Maru had the new coffee pot assembled in the kitchen quick and rather effortlessly - Blade suspected he was probably a little buzzed, but if he got the job done then he got it done - and finally they had their coffee pot back. Sort of.

It was a different model, and supposedly it had other features that nobody really cared about, but it was the most durable looking one and one of the more affordable, so no one could really complain. And they certainly couldn’t complain after that first pot.

“I never knew straight black coffee could be so smooth…” Blade admitted.

“Makes you wonder what happened to it with the old one.” Cabbie added.

Less than a week later, the machine was already up to making low rattling sounds, likely in irritation of the amount of teamates that doubled on their coffee-drinking numbers, but it wasn’t meant for the air attack base if it wasn’t a bit rattled anyways. It did its job, and as such it was respected for it, though they still beat the crap out of it.

Such is the life of a fire station coffee machine.


	2. The Worst Thing [Dusty] - G

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dusty is in firefighting livery since he just came back from PPAA. This is after the corn festival - and before you try to question it, yeah, it took a while before the thing started to happen so it didn’t show up during the festival. Maru likely warned him after the fact anyways. Also his pontoons are off. Just, I didn’t wanna have to deal with them. No one does it seems.

Few things tended to be entirely dreaded by the former crop-duster. Sure, there were adulting things he didn’t exactly enjoy doing - taxes, medical papers and bills, helping to keep the Propwash fire department up to code - but they were never things he well and truly despised.  
It seemed only one thing held that title as the worst thing.  
Having to be grounded.  
“I’m boooored.” Dusty whined, pacing in circles in Dottie’s workshop. It was the off season, the perfect time for training or a Sunday flight, but he’d been sitting on his aft all week because of a stupidly minor engine malfunction.  
Dottie didn’t deny Maru’s capabilities, especially considering he was able to completely rebuild a new gear box for Dusty, but he’d only been home from Piston Peak for a month or so, and she wasn’t taking any chances if something was going on again.  
All that had happened anyways was a sort of fluttering stall for half a second mid-flight a couple of days ago. It was something Maru had specifically mentioned would probably happen anyways. With a completely different part, his engine still needed to get used to it, but it was unlikely to do anything more than a couple of flutters, until he grew accustomed to how differently it performed.  
The ‘minor malfunction’ that Dottie specifically referred to as reason for grounding Dusty for a few days was one particular engine fluctuation that almost stalled his engine. He played it off like he was just doing a stunt, knowing full well what it was. Skipper somehow caught it, and so Dottie did too.  
“It’s supposed to do that! It’s fine!” He argued.  
“It’s still not safe to be flying while it does!” Dottie replied, firm in her decision.  
It wouldn’t be a permanent thing, anyways. So long as she could check each day and see that his engine ran smoothly, she’d eventually clear him to fly again once the engine finally got used to it.  
Dusty, however, was growing impatient.  
“It’s been four days…” He said, still circling in Dottie’s garage, to the point that a trail was worn into the concrete.  
“Go bother Skipper to watch a movie then.” Dottie suggested, “I already ran today’s performance test, we’ll try it again tomorrow.”  
“But it’s fine, it’ll go back to normal faster if I actually use it!”  
“You’re still recovering from your last injury on top of it!” Dottie replied.  
“I made it back here okay, didn’t I?” The red and white plane huffed. Dottie glared at him in that way that said ‘I’m done arguing with you’ without words.  
Dusty, giving up yet again, sighed and left the hangar, deciding just to go sit in the grass and sunbathe / sulk under the clear skies.  
He hadn’t expected to find Skipper out too.  
“I thought you were out?” He asked his mentor.  
“I was.” he said simply, “I got bored.”  
“Pff, at least you can go out.” Dusty said. He rolled up next to the old warbird, opting to sit landing gear up in the bright green grass. It tickled against his belly, but eventually he found it comfortable just to sit and relax, the earth firm and solid underneath him.  
The two planes sat together silently at the end of the town for a while, watching drifting clouds and making images out of them, only to watch it change and morph into something else. No words were ever spoken, but there never needed to be. They had known each other for long enough now, they were practically connected through their cores like it was the Shining or something.  
For the first time in four days, Dusty actually felt calm about the situation. All week he’d been antsy and agitated with boredom, practically begging Dottie to let him up in the air again. He’d thought about up and ignoring her rule and just taking off, but he’d already done that before, and look where that had gotten him. He’d already learned that lesson the hard way.  
He’d spent the latter half of the afternoon still sitting and watching the sky, the sun beginning to touch the horizon, turning the skies into pinks and oranges that gleamed softly against his fresh coat of red paint. A symbol of change, physical and mental, that he’d undergone events that would undoubtedly change the course of his life forever.  
Even after Skipper had gone, Dusty sat watching the world grow dark, thinking. Wondering when the first incident would arrive in town that he would have to respond to. Wondering when, or even if, he’d get to go back to Piston Peak. Wondering how much of his time his second career would take. Or when the next firefighter would join Propwash. And, probably the most thought question, when will it all wear him down to the point he would have to choose? Surely he couldn’t keep up two demanding careers as much as he’d predicted for the rest of his life. Eventually, it may come down to one or the other. One job he wanted, the other needed. Could he keep up a scheduled racing life while his firefighting one remained completely unpredictable? Could he really stand changing paint and switching landing gear around all the time? What would happen in an emergency if he had no pontoons? It was a tedious switch at best, time consuming and, like his new gear box, in need of adjustment.  
Eventually, he considered, he would just see. Wait and see was his answer, as much as he hated the idea of going into the unknown and hoping that nothing bad was going to happen. But that’s how his life had been before racing became his full career, before firefighting was even a part of his life.  
With a calm, confident smile, he got up from his patch of grass and rolled back to his own hangar for the night. “Aim for the moon,” he thought, remembering his mother’s words to him the day he left home, “even if you miss, you’ll still land among the stars.”  
Thankfully with his new-found calmer approach to his own future, he was less antsy about grounding than he had been. And wouldn’t you know it, the next day his engine cleared without a hitch.  
“I guess I can clear you then to fly.” Dottie said, albeit reluctantly.  
“Finally!” Dusty said, not hiding his joy in knowing he was allowed to be up in the air again. “Tell Skipper I’ll be warming up before practice, I’m not waiting on him to get off the runway!”  
And with that, he took off, free at last. Dottie just shook her head, watching him rev down the runway. As mature as he’d become, she didn’t think he’d ever lose that childish excitement. She hoped he’d never lose it, too.


	3. Game of Thrones [Dusty/Blade/Skipper] - T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had previously thought Propwash Junction to be in Iowa. Then after a purchase of the Planes “Official Guide” book I realised the set location was in Minnesota. So there’s that. Also there’s an OC in here briefly, Cassidy, Blade’s adopted grand-niece. I will leave reference notes to her at the end of the story for later context. Teen because language - Blade’s to be exact. California helis don’t mix with Minnesota weather.

It was a rare occurrence that Dusty ever got to spend time with Skipper and Blade at the same time. Schedules never coordinated right, things always showed up at the last minute, and travelling halfway across the country was tedious at best. But thankfully for them all, a perfect window of opportunity had presented itself in the middle of December. Dusty was in between two races that had a week and a half gap between them, there was snow on the ground at the Air Attack base. Even Cassidy was on winter break, so she could come along for the flight to Minnesota.  
They - meaning Blade and Dusty mainly - planned the dates up, and December 14th, Dusty and company were eagerly awaiting the choppers from their little locale airstrip. The morning was frosty with fresh-fallen snow, but the winds were low so there were no core-rattling chills. Skipper looked over at the bright orange plane, sticking out like a sore thumb around the faded whites and greys of the landscape, in a pair of blue earmuffs and a long crocheted scarf around his front. Yep, wintertime nerd. But who could blame him, he could pull it off.  
The two helicopters showed up around 11AM, tires and skids landing on the thawed out section of the runway. Cass had a bit of a slip up on the ice as she’d landed, but she held up nicely.  
Both of them, Skipper noticed, had their own winter setups, Blade with a set of sturdier, less slip-prone snowtires over his landing gear, and Cass a set of green and yellow skid-warmers. The MH-6 Little Bird hybrid seemed pretty used to the cold though, growing up in the north side of Portland. Blade, on the other tire, was not as amused to the idea of the frozen water falling from the sky.  
“You’re not shivering, are you?” Dusty questioned.  
“It’s fucking cold.” was Blade’s short reply.

After getting everyone into the main hangar - chosenly Skipper’s because it was both the most spacious and the cleanest (Dusty had reasons for being unorganised) - Sparky pulled out a deck of cards. Namely, one that everyone knew how to play even if it had been decades.  
“We used to play this all the time on the set.” Blade mentioned, as Dottie dealt everyone the cards for the first round.  
“Is Uno really that old?” Chug asked, to which Blade and Skipper both returned stone cold glares.  
“‘71,” The Augustawestland said, “isn’t that old.”

The first Uno round was the basic one - the only house rule was stacking, where one could play a draw two on top of another draw two and “stack” the draws onto the next vehicle, until no more draw cards could be placed. This was probably the most hilarious thing to watch for the group, seeing everyone stack twos together just to dump them all on Dusty when it was a draw twelve.  
“No fair!” He said.  
“Way fair, you agreed to stacking!” Cassidy reminded him.  
By the end of the game - which had already taken a good hour or so to finish - Dottie won, while the boys were all trying to team up and completely destroy the former crop-duster. In the end it was assumed he still had about twenty-three cards. He did get to exact some revenge in round two though, when everyone decided to pair up in teams for a slightly shorter game. Dusty paired with Chug and Sparky, Skipper with Cassidy, and Blade with Dottie - the most overpowered team by far, as the rest argued.  
“You have three people in your team.” Blade said.  
“Because the three of us together can only amount to one complete brain!” Chug answered. No one could really deny them on that statement.  
After a surprising win of round two by Skipper and Cassidy, Dottie and Chug left to work on some things over at the Fill n’ Fly, and Sparky went to help them out, so it was just the crop-duster, his two mentors, and the Little Bird.  
Their second game choice was a WWII variation of Monoploy, in which Blade kicked ass and Dusty and Cassidy both kept falling on war bonds and income taxes. Skipper was hot on the red and white helicopter’s tail though, owning all but one of the railroads - or in this case, the ‘Atlantic Convoys’, ‘Red Ball Express’, and ‘Flying the Hump’ properties. Blade still managed to claim the ‘Alcan Highway’. It was a close call, but Blade still won in the end.  
Then, while Cassidy went to play a few rounds of Jenga with the others, Dusty took the opportunity to pull out the ‘grown up game’ that Skipper had only ever heard tellings of from Chug and Sparky, in a very giggly, half-drunken manner. He himself didn’t want to know what shenanigans went on in the game, but apparently they were about to find out when he set down the black and white box.  
“Oh my gosh...this is a game?!” the warbird questioned, worryingly going through his set of cards. The chopper looked about as concerned as he felt.  
“Yes!” Dusty half-chuckled back.  
Well, this was going to be interesting.  
Admittedly, a round of the game and a round of beers later, all three of them were having a pretty ridiculous but fun time, especially around a few choice card placements.  
By the time all was said and done, Dusty won the round, and the group decided to call it a night. It was a fun night for sure, and one that everyone would remember.  
Everyone went back to sleep in their own respective hangars, Blade staying in Skipper’s and Cassidy in Dottie’s, opting to stay the night rather than freeze their tails off in the winter weather. Blade had absolutely no objections to avoiding the minus-four-degree weather outside.  
“‘t’s fucking cold.” He muttered.  
“Goodnight!” Dusty replied, “And welcome to Minnesota.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special Notes:  
> >When I was trying to think up a Monopoly variation for them to play, the first thing that came to my head was a WWII version - cuz Skipper. And then I was like “nah...that doesn’t exist.” Well come to find out, yes actually, it does. Look it up if you don’t believe me.  
> >for reference because I didn’t describe her too much here, Cassidy Lopez is a purple and white hybrid helicopter, mostly of Hughes 500d and MH-6 Little Bird decent, and about thirteen or so in here. Yes you heard me right, Lopez. To be explained in future writings when I get off my aft and do them.  
> >I wanted to see if anyone could get the ‘grown up game’ without me blurting out, but in case you didn’t catch on or don’t know it, they played Cards Against Humanity. And it’s hilarious.  
> >Title from the idea in my headcanon that Dusty, Skipper and Blade are all, respectively, the greatest card-game champions in their circles, so putting them head-to-head was like a fight for the king of the games.


	4. The Great American Race [PPAA] - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is super short but I wanted to put it out there today - It's Daytona 500 day.

Once upon a time, Windlifter remembered a quiet day on the base. The only sound across the tarmac aside from the wind or the occasional birds was the slow-played records over the loudspeaker that Patch kept on - to keep everything from feeling too quiet.  
He really wished for those quiet days back today.  
“DAYTONAAAA!”  
“DAYTONAAAA!”  
At least half of the base was beyond excited for the first day of the Dinoco season, and that day had come again to witness the first race of the year, in the Daytona 500. The Smokejumpers in particular were bursting with excitement, along with the majority of the rest of the base.  
“We have all the essentials!” Drip exclaimed to the newly returned former-crop duster - Dusty wasn’t always the most up to date with stock car racing, but he was definitely on their side for watching the race - it was against his racer’s code not to.  
“There’s snacks and drinks - and maybe some alcohol--”  
“DON’T TELL THE BOSS!” Avalanche added.  
“And everybody’s got their own seating, and Maru managed to beat the satellite into submission!”  
“We’ll even get a campfire going out here when the sun goes down.” Blackout said. The team was obviously very well-prepared for the day.  
Everyone on the base, excluding the air boss, Windlifter, and Cabbie, would be watching the coverage from the main hangar. The others excluded the group event simply because they had no interest in the race, save for Blade who didn’t join because he had no intention of being sociable. Also he didn’t want to see the amounts of alcohol the Smokejumpers had snuck in. At least when it was all said and done, three of their team wouldn’t be nursing hangovers in the morning. Maybe four if Dynamite stayed sensible.  
However, even though he’d previously declined the offer numerous times, Drip and Dusty both were nagging the Agustawestland to join in on their activities.  
“But you know everybody! It’s just like watching a movie together!” Drip tried to reason.  
“Look I’ll watch it, just in my own time!” Blade replied. Neither could seem to get him to budge.  
Working with the team was one thing, and Blade never had a problem with that. But the team was aware that when it came to personal-time, big groups and loud noises were not things Blade took any interest indulging in. Even back in his acting days, when social activities were offered, the chopper was known for being a bit of a recluse, hiding out on his own until the coast was clear. He just lived to be an introvert, and that didn’t have to be a bad thing. So long as others learned to respect his boundaries, everything was fine.  
The race coverage began at ten in the morning in their time zone, and by 9:45 everyone was justled together in the hangar buzzing with excitement. Dipper of course took the opportunity to convene with her Dustmuffin, who was obviously awkwarded but remained friendly and polite. The boys argued over racing odds, to the point that Dynamite had to talk them down from it when they started to roughhouse.  
“Not in the hangar.” She warned.  
The green flag dropped about eleven, and that’s when everybody finally shut up and started paying attention. By the end of the second segment of the race, the sky had just barely begun to grow dark, and Dusty, along with Drip, Blackout, Avalanche and Maru, set to lighting the campfire ablaze and starting on some marshmallows.  
As they started to crack open the beer cans, they were suddenly surprised to see an extra figure having decided to join them.  
“Welcome to the party, Blade.” Maru said with a grin. The helicopter’s rotors twitched in response, and he went over to sit by the fire, stealing a marshmallow stick in the process.  
With the last part of the race going on over the radio and in the television from the hangar, the team made a competition of marshmallows, both with who had the most perfect s’more - Blade won with ease here to everyone’s amazement - and a marshmallow eating contest which was played between Dusty, Drip, and Avalanche. As far as everyone knew, Dusty was winning until the final lap of the race was announced and everyone forgot about the game.  
It was no surprise to many that the new racing sensation, Ramirez, had won. She did the year before too when she was just starting out.  
“Nice to see a gal out there for once.” Dynamite said, to which Patch and Pinecone both nodded their agreements.  
“DAYTONAAAAA!” Avalanche shouted one last time.  
“Well said.” Maru replied, “Welp, shall we call it a night?”  
“But we gotta find out who won the marshmallow contest!” Drip said.  
“Oop, sorry-” Dusty said, “I kind of finished the bag while we were watching the race.”  
And so the winner was decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know that it's the Florida 500 in the movies but dangit, it will always be Daytona 500 for me!


	5. Home [Dusty/Leadbottom] - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what this is. Some sort of expositional, useless, unnecessary, Leadbottom-centered filler material, apparently. Enjoy anyways.

Since he had become a racer, Dusty never looked back at his old life. At least, not in any way that warranted him wanting to go back to it. But he had thought back to it, as an exception, wondering if Leadbottom would still be able to manage out there all on his own at his age.  
Before he showed up, Dusty had heard tell of other crop dusters helping out in that field, though he never knew more than that, even as much as Leadbottom could run his mouth. When he’d gotten to Propwash Junction, the old biplane was the only farmer there. He knew Dusty was the right build, young, and sturdy enough to carry on the business. Maybe he had made plan to retire originally. Not that he ever did when the younger air tractor joined him.  
He cared about his job too much. It was that same hole of overworking that everyone else appeared to get stuck in - even Dusty had found himself constricted into the mindset of “I’ll stop working when I’m dead” when it came to his own career, even as incredibly stress-inducing as that had become. So he couldn’t see Leadbottom ever pulling out of it any time soon. Not until his engine seized up and forced him to. But then, he wondered, when it eventually did, who would take over then?  
Propwash Junction today wasn’t the same as it was forty years ago. Older folks passed away, or moved away, and younger ones moved in. Then there was the business explosion in the town after Dusty had begun to make a name for himself, and now new housing developments were being put up all over the grid. It was a bittersweet - good in that it meant the town would finally get the things it needed and the vehicles to use them, but sad because it was the end of an era, the beginning of closure of that little farm town in the middle of nowhere, where the radio stations were all on old country music and the biggest roadside attraction within 20 miles was the “world’s largest prop”. But then again, before his time the town was even less of a ‘town’ - the main streets were all but loose gravel trails and dirt roads. Leadbottom had watched the place grow up from that, and where was he then? Dusting the fields, the same as he always had. No one seemed to recall a time before then, hardly even him it felt like.  
Though Dusty already had a strong grandfather figure, he’d always looked to Leadbottom the same way he did his ol’ pops. Okay, well, maybe more like if Leadbottom was his great uncle twice removed, but still, like family no matter how far they’re gone. And he empathised with the fact that, truly, he was getting up there in Skipper’s age and still working full-time, and he was starting to slow down. It didn’t take a trained eye to see it. He’d have to find another route to go eventually.  
Along with the drastic expansion of the town in the last few years, there was also a drastic change in the kinds of folks that it inhabited. Less and less of Propwash’s residents were the kinds of hard-working day-laborers they really needed, more of them leaning towards small-town businesses and shops, and other, out-of-town jobs. The change was bound to hurt their crop field production, if it hadn’t been already - Dusty never really looked at the numbers.  
Indeed, the world was changing, maybe for the better, and still maybe for the worse. But when old timers began to flounder, young guns would soon too be there to learn the ways, and on the chain would descend into another, even more innovative generation of beings, to hone their skill and pass it onto the next one’s looking to take up their torches. When he thought about it that way, such a job was honestly a very honorable position.  
It almost made Dusty wish he hadn’t just abandoned his old job from before so quickly. He’d been at it for so long anyways, and Leadbottom wouldn’t be around forever. But then again, he thought, if he had stayed, he would not have been able to see what he saw now in that job. He wouldn’t have been able to cherish those days for being what they were, or where they would soon lead. And most of all, he considered, gazing off into the skies at a new CA-28 Ceres, probably in his early thirties, it would give others the opportunities he got, the chance to learn and grow from such a place and become something greater, something more. Whether or not that meant leaving later was up to them, but it was how they chose to begin their path that would set up where they would be headed. He, of all planes, should know.  
Indeed it’s true, you have to fight through some bad days to earn the best days of your life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I have no idea what this is. I gave up trying to make some kind of story or point behind this.  
> -Leadbottom...backstory? I guess? I don’t know. Boredom and light writing while I work around ‘Emergency’ snags some more.


	6. A Wise Decision [Dusty] - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate name: "Tooth Be Told"
> 
> The two titles alone should prepare you for the focus of this short story.

Dottie had already warned the hyperactive Air Tractor about it long before. Before racing, before firefighting, before he had even decided on what it was he wanted to do with his life. Of course, back then it didn’t really matter. Naturally, the orange and white plane shrugged it off. “I’ll get to it when it happens”. They hadn’t even shown up yet, let alone begun the process of trying to break through. But the day was coming, and they would have to find a way to plan accordingly.  
It hadn’t begun showing signs of time being near until the beginning of June, in the year following his firefighting certification. Despite flying through hoops to get that certificate, and then even more to keep that title sustained, Dusty was managing to keep it up, managing two jobs equally. But it brought with it a lot of stress and tension, and a full set of wisdom teeth trying to break through were not helping matters.  
That was his excuse the first time the signs showed up. He just blamed it on the overworking. Of course, knowing Dusty, he’d never slow that down, or try to, so even if it was, there was nothing they could do about it. But then it started getting worse, slowly but steadily. General anesthetics could barely cut it anymore.  
Dottie knew as well where things were surely headed in the next month. Nearly every check-up, she’d catch him grinding his teeth, clearly in irritated discomfort. Whatever stress chews from racing season he still had were worn thin and torn up in many areas - even ones that were supposed to have lasted a long time still.  
“You know he’s a long ways out,” She finally told him, “You’re going to have to schedule an appointment _now_ while you’re still ahead.”  
“Yeah, I’ll do it in a bit.” He told her.  
Well, he always said things like that.

Dottie was certainly a great mechanic, and especially great to have close by and at greatly discounted appointments, but she didn’t work with an aircraft’s teeth. That profession was left up to another to take care of, and unfortunately for the lot of them, the nearest place that they had from their home in Minnesota that was decent wasn’t even _in_ Minnesota. It was over in Wisconsin, a ways south-east of them. Dr. Steven McLaren was one of the best Dottie, Chug, Sparky, Dusty and even Skipper had ever met. Don’t let the sleek-looking exterior fool you though, the guy was all too well invested in his job to want to do anything else with his life. He too was doing more than he was built for, in a manner of speaking.  
Eventually, Dottie and Skipper both decided to up and set up the appointment for him. The kid tended to be a bit on the scatter-brained side more often than not anymore, but who could blame him, really. Times were busy now, with him and Mayday up to their eyes renovating the fire station in Propwash and on a hunt for more firefighters to be stationed, and having races to compete in on top of it, not to mention all the papers and medical records and registrations and headaches that went with every race on the circuit. Skipper only hoped he’d wake up before he crashed in the burning pit of overworking oneself to death - again. He’d say Blade could talk sense into him, but...well, in all fairness he was probably worse...actually, scratch _probably_ out of that...  
McLaren was pretty swamped too with patients, and Dusty felt he was “in no rush” for an appointment. Not that he’d get any special attention from celebrity status there anyways. Still, the earliest time they could set up was in the beginning of July, and the longer time wore on, the worse things got.  
Most all vehicles had wisdom teeth, slightly less frequent in forklifts, pitties, and certain other terrestrial vehicles, but normal all the same. And the ‘norm’ for those who did have them was to get them pulled out, as soon as possible. There was a pretty high chance they would end up growing in crooked, or otherwise crowding up the available space and causing a lot of pain.  
Most vehicles went between 15 and 21, in the window where the teeth began to push upwards and against the gums at the back of their jaws, but not so late that they had broken teeth or crammed them all together too tightly. Dusty was a little past that threshold of the “get it done before it hurts” age, but to be fair his teeth were a bit slower to develop than they had thought. Nearly 27 now, the wisdom teeth were finally at the point of actually beginning to _do_ something, and so it would be now or never to have them pulled.  
As the latter half of June wore on, anesthetics were more steadily used and increased to the highest amount Dottie was willing to give him without sending him overboard. The day before the end of the month, they broke out the icepacks. It was especially bad at night, it seemed, when there wasn’t the other things of life to occupy his mind. Skipper didn’t think he was even sleeping anymore, more just laying miserably with an icepack crammed against his cheek all night.  
July eighth couldn’t come any faster, and the young plane was, almost in a literal sense, chomping at the bit to get going. Dusty and Skipper flew out together in the morning, planning to get an transport back - Dusty wouldn’t be able to fly on his own for at least twenty-four hours after the main anesthesia wore off. What else was new.  
They showed up in Ladysmith before it was even eight o’clock, landing in the Rusk County Airport, or KRCX, at seven forty-eight. McLaren’s office wasn’t far from the airport, but it was a bit of a ride there. At least there wasn’t a lot of ground-traffic in such a small town.  
The appointment wasn’t scheduled to be until nine, but there was still some paperwork to be gone through, and the up-front payment. Skipper could practically hear the young plane’s tanks doing somersaults; because of the anesthesia, he wasn’t able to eat or drink anything eight hours prior to the appointment - and Skipper was pretty certain that he hadn’t ever gone more than about four without snacking on something. What got him to Wisconsin was leftover fuel from before that time period.  
About eight thirty or so, McLaren was already expecting his next patient. There were some pre-done things, a scan, and a general assessment of what was going to occur. Though still clearly nervous, Dusty did everything as he was told, asking a couple questions here and there where he may have been confused or concerned. As expected, the x-rays clearly showed four fully-developed wisdom teeth in the back corners of his jaws, two on the top and two on the bottom, just under the gums.  
Skipper stayed by his side up until the actual setup for the surgery. At that point, he’d been asked to leave the room.  
“Take care, I’ll pick you up in a few hours.” The war bird said as he departed them. He wasn’t sure if the half-chuckle of a response was genuine, or forced as a cover-up for the feelings of sudden terror. He had the mind to believe it was probably the latter. “You’ll be alright, he knows what he’s doing.” He added as comfort.  
He vividly remembered the discussion with the nurse about all of the do’s and don’ts after the fact. He could recall every last detail of the setup before the anesthesia had been administered. But after it had, all time seemed to have stopped, as it often did when he was knocked out. Darkness and nothingness came back to claim him, and for the life of him he had no memory of the event of the surgery.  
Well, except for that one moment when he woke up. He fuzzily remembered someone working on something on a table next to him, and then the “oh, crap-” of McLaren, having noticed his patient was somewhat conscious, and then the pull of the anesthesia again and the fading back to darkness. Apparently the dose that his inevitably inexperienced assistant had given him wasn’t quite enough to keep him out completely. Guess they hadn’t taken into account how many times the same stuff had gone through his system before. Thankfully, that was the only incident, and it hadn’t happened _while_ a tooth was being taken out - rather in between removals, lucky for him.  
The rest of the surgery went smoothly, and around noon Skipper had been called back to recollect the patient, still coming out of drugs and now with four teeth less. Transport home had already been arranged for them by the time he got there, so it was just a matter of persuading the rocky plane back to the airport. That of the still sound mind thanked McLaren for the service again, adding that they would surely be back again for everyone else’s dental appointments, though probably not one this big for a long time.  
“We’ll be here!” He replied.

When the two planes made it back home, the beginning of the next six weeks began - lots of gauze-stuffing and salt water rinsing awaited him, but at least it was leading him back to being able to work without as much pain and discomfort. And sure enough, less than two days after the surgery, he was back to being his old self again around town, to everyone’s - his own included - collected relief.  
They were glad that even past the general age range, the crop duster recovered quickly and rather effortlessly. He was officially deemed able to eat solid food again after about four weeks, and after six he was completely back to being himself, save for not having to deal with the jaw pains. That was one more life-hurdle crossed off the list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -You will never have any idea how long it took me to come up with the name “Dr. Steven McLaren”. It gives me heartburn to think about.  
> -McLaren Automotive is actually a thing, they make sports cars. Hence McLaren’s “sleek looking exterior” one should not be fooled by. Specifically, a McLaren 650S. I dunno, they looked cool so I thought why not for a side character.  
> -It’s writings like these that make me wonder what situations might have occured when these same things inevitably happen to all the other characters. At such a younger age, what would Skipper have been like getting his out? Or, gosh, Blade even? And what characters might have gotten lucky and not had to deal with them at all? (this topic open for discussion in the comments to any chatty readers)  
> -I had wisdom teeth pulled, if that wasn’t already obvious from the familiarity of all of…”this”. And I had never had any kind of surgery or big dentist appointment before, so yes I freaked the hell out. But I am SO glad I got knocked out for it all. All I remember was sitting in the chair, and then hours later being put into a wheelchair and stuck into the passenger seat of the car. And I, being like my father with crooked as heck teeth, had a molar removed as well that day. It got broken and I was in no mood to spend a lifetime trying to save it. But hey - no more pain. Or ice packs on my jaw.  
> -”stress chews” is actually a friendly nod to someone else’s headcanon [BobblyChicken’s]. It’s basically a chew-toy for airplanes in otherwise stressful situations - i.e. the racing industry - as a way to keep their buzzing minds occupied physically.  
> -I wonder how many random places I’ll learn otherwise useless things about in Wikipedia after writing all of these stories...yes I pick random, REAL locations for most of my story settings. I don’t know, it feels wrong and somewhat disrespectful not to. It’s like a writing etiquette.


	7. Something In The Water [Blade/Nick] - T/M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter caused me to change my PttP tags from general to teen, and from general relationships to multi.
> 
> CHoPs thing that is making me second-guess myself a lot. Read at risk of mental scarring. Teen/16+ for innuendo and alcohol usage.

It was busy. And crowded. And incredibly, _obnoxiously_ loud. All of the big events they had to attend were. And, as usual, only half of their star players showed up. The other half was holding his ground firm from his hangar.  
“I’m not going.” He said, against Nick’s every request, demand, and plea to join them at the season finale party. It was the first time since last May that they could feel proud of completing an entire season’s worth, and their only chance at spending well-earned free time before season three went into full swing. And Nick, being the adrenaline hog he was, wanted to spend the time having a _good_ time - and that meant not tracking the number of alcoholic beverages he’d suck down in one night. It wasn’t even eleven yet and Blade knew he’d had at least a couple over his “limits”.  
“C’mooon, the booze is great!” He tried to persuade. But the older chopper didn’t budge, choosing to remain firmly situated on his sleeping pad. The smaller helicopter tried to push and nudge him up, but to no avail. The Hughes was undoubtedly a tiny thing when compared to the Agustawestland.  
“At least come say hi to our friends,” he pleaded, “they _miss_ you.”  
“They’ll last a night without me, it won’t kill ‘em.” The other said, baritone and unphased by Nick’s pouting face.  
The little blue and white chopper flopped down onto his belly next to the older male, dark umbers fighting against piercing blues. His face contorted into a childish frown, and he finally gave up with a sigh as the older continued to ignore his antics.  
“I’ll be out there waiting if you get lonely.” He said finally, getting back up to leave. Blade didn’t watch him go, only listened to the patterned _’thud’_ of his skids on the concrete as he hopped back to the ongoing event. He could hear the half-drunken groups from his hangar, nearly felt the shake of the ground from the speakers. Headlight beams danced across the window panes as folks came and went, the room transitioning between lit and dark. Everything outside was clearly visible, yet disconnected, something distinguishable, yet unattainable. It felt empty.  
Blade sighed, getting up off his mat and rolling towards the hangar doors. He hated it when the Hughes was right.

Almost as soon as he’d gone in, he wished he could slip back out. The noise from the hangar was bearable at least - this was another level of deafness. And the swarming noise of folks passing by from every direction made everything just that more uneasy for the introverted helicopter. He quickly sped off from the entrance, in blind pursuit of the drink stands. Maybe with enough he could tolerate the madness. Or at least his spiked anxieties.  
He was unsure of where his partner was, though if he had to guess it was probably out on the dance floor with someone. It didn’t matter how many times he’d come back to the chopper, he could never stay in one place or with one vehicle. He was the kind that partied hard, and found it difficult to lay down roots with anyone in particular. Blade found it a little insulting and hard to cope with sometimes, but then again, he couldn’t really be mad at him. He wasn’t really _his_ , or at least not supposed to be. So long as the world was concerned, their relationship didn’t exist. He had every reason not to need to stay committed.  
Yet every other partner later, he found the smaller chopper always coming back to him. Maybe it was the simple, inexcusable fact that they worked together in somewhat close quarters, so maybe he was just doing it because it was easier. But he’d gotten with others that worked here too, and from what Blade knew he hadn’t gone back to them. Maybe he’d just found something in the other he liked to come back to when he wanted. Maybe he was starting to like the idea of familiarity over the unexpected with those he stayed with. Or, more likely it seemed in the Agustawestland’s mind, he was just lazy.

As luck would have it, Blade wasn’t bothered too much during the event. Most of the guests either worked in the team or otherwise knew he wasn’t that much of a socialite like his co-star, so the majority of his crowding just bounced off. There were a few fans that came though, die-hards and folks like that. He just played off his insecurities like he always did, smile and wave, sign autographs when asked, yada yada. There were a couple of reporters and news anchors looking for some juicy gossip, but left as he had none to give - none willingly, at least. His and Nick’s secret was not one either dared to share to the public. They weren’t stupid, they knew how people were.  
One drink later, and another in the works, Blade finally caught a glimpse of his co-star on the other end of the event room, and, as he predicted, engaged in conversation with a nice looking Bell 206. The other helicopter was sporting a baby blue paint job with a few perfect white stars across her livery. It looked like a nice contrast to the other’s much darker, almost navy blue accents over his white frame. He was sure they would hit it off.  
It was surprising then, a little past midnight, to see him hopping back to the table to say hi, not trailed by the other - or _any_ other for that matter.  
“What happened to the Bell?” Blade asked, in between sips of his third drink - and counting. Nick only responded with a bodily shrug.  
“Wasn’t in the mood.”  
“You weren’t or she wasn’t?” he asked, the hint of acidity in his tone not going unnoticed by the Hughes.  
“Hey don’t be jealous, just cuz I’m the ladykiller.” He remarked, “I could’ve tried if I wanted, but I didn’t, so quit poutin’.”  
“Just seems a little unlike you is all.” Blade said,  
“Well, you know, I’ve found someone better.” Nick replied. Somehow he’d expected a reply from his comrade, and felt offended when he realised the other hadn’t even caught on.  
“Oh c’mon, _really?_ You didn’t notice?”  
“I did, I just never said anything.” Blade told him. If he meant him, he wasn’t sure why - nothing they did would have been much different than with anyone else, save for one difference.  
“Said anything ‘bout what now?” Came a voice from behind him, and the both of them immediately shut up about their conversation. It wasn’t the first time they had almost been found out about. And Garrison was the same one they’d had to cover it up for last time. They inwardly hoped he, along with everyone else in the crew, wasn’t beginning to catch on.  
“The fact that he’s a junkie no matter the context.” Blade said. _’Smooth.’_ the other thought.  
“Getting in trouble again?” Garrison asked. Even though they knew the real him apart from his character, they couldn’t shake the similarities in his tone to the overbearing police officer. Time like this, they were one in the same.  
“Nah, just tryin’ to.” Nick teased. The old Crown Victoria scoffed and shook his front. “Kid, you ain’t gonna survive Hollywood for long.”  
“Are you kiddin’? I’ll be a _legend!_ ” He said. Part of Blade wished he had even just a fraction of the amount of self-confidence the other possessed. On the other end, he was a bit too much of a narcissist to just call it confidence.  
The group - or rather, Nick and Garrison - chatted over drinks while Blade spectated, both on their conversation and the social behaviors of everyone else around them. The later it got, the more folks moved away from the dance floor, towards the outskirts of the buildings to reconvene in smaller circles, until finally parting ways for the evening. He noticed the few staggering a bit out of the place, and others leaving just as calmly as they’d come in. Members of the “higher-up” team - directors, producers, writers - were congregating at the tables to the far end of the building. No doubt they were busy with devious plans to kick off the next season. Blade only hoped they wouldn’t start asking _him_ to do his own stunts, too. He really wasn’t the type for it.  
By the time people were actually being ushered out of the place, it was well past one. Blade was a little buzzed, but not noticeably - surprisingly it kept his ‘introverting’ from having an aneurysm mid-party. Nick had been drinking off and on all night, but decided in the last hour to chug down at least two more whole cans. He probably wasn’t of the most sound mind.  
He _definitely_ wasn’t, the chopper realised, hearing him giggle and hop up from behind him, leaning against his side like it was holding him up. He really, _really_ hoped no one overheard what the Hughes whispered to him, drunk off his aft under the full moon. He didn’t know much Spanish to begin with, but there were words he’d learned both from Nick’s teaching and from his own guesswork of context that he knew the meaning of. And most of the ones he’d just riddled out led to an inevitably long night.  
Blade found it surprising that, even drunk, Nick had wanted him over anyone else. It wasn’t just laziness or coincidence that he kept coming back to the other. He was happy to oblige to him as well; booze always tasted better on the other’s tongue. Or maybe that was just him.

Either way, he supposed he was committed after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Probably the most “cover your eyes children” story I have written so far. I’m not sure what to make of this so...have whatever this is. And don’t tell anybody where you found it.  
> -This is the point where I have defined exactly what Blade and Nick’s relationship really is, or was, which is to say a sort of “friends with benefits” type of relationship, but with more meaning. Really, they would have been committed to one another if it weren’t for the time period and the fact that Nick can’t sit still for the life of him, in any context you want to put that in. But the intimate part of their relationship came after the realisation that, “hey, I think I actually like you” came to play.  
> -There’s more I _wanted_ to put in this, but as the story went on things kinda changed and ended differently than I was planning. I may come back to something like this another time and try to write the angle I was initially going for, which is to say I’ll have to go even earlier in their “relationship” to the actual build-up. It wasn’t actually meant to be this adult, I swear!


	8. From V to U [Maru] - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eh, the tug doesn't get enough attention that's not more work to put up with, so here, have a short, humorous history lesson.

_‘Marvin Lucas Briggs’_ was signed onto the bottom of the job application, to the best of the tug’s cursive writing ability. He’d signed his own name so many times now that they had become loose and sloppy, the letters looking less like letters and more like swirls. Thank Chrysler they had it in print form, too.  
The forklift hybrid passed the last sheet of paper over to the fire chief, who read over it quickly, but thoughtfully. The silence between the two of them felt mildly intimidating, but at this point the mechanic had nothing to lose.  
After a minute of silence, the brush truck nodded over the application - that kind of ‘I know what’s going on here’ nod.  
“Briggs, I’d say you’re just the person we need.”

Marv had been in a dead end job for the last five years. They overworked and underpaid him to the point that he’d take on just about anything else. Preferably something that would get him out of the miserable rut of dealing with whiny customers sending complaints for petty reasons that weren’t even his concern.  
By some set of circumstances, he’d been recommended for a job that he felt would be way out of his line of work. A friend of a friend’s friend, or something like that, offered to try applying for a fire department up in the northern half of California, the station overlooking an entire wildlife preserve. He’d laughed it off at first, told them it was a long shot and he probably wouldn’t be the right type to go dealing with brawny-aft firefighters and their problems, but then he contradicted himself and went for it anyway. At least he could say he tried.

He didn’t expect he’d be hired on the spot.

The fire chief offered what he couldn’t refuse - a nicer paycheck, better benefits, and an entire garage _to himself_ to work in - the latter being the biggest and most important addition in the tug’s mind. The only nerve-wracking part would be as soon as their current resident mechanic retired, he’d be the _only_ resident mechanic there for a while, and therefore every maintenance job in the team would be solely his priority. But that also meant he’d be doing things on his terms, and, in a way, he’d be his own boss.  
So it was that six weeks from his interview with the fire captain, he flew out again to the park, for good this time. No longer were the days of butting tines with lazy workers in a cramped aircraft garage in Illinois. That life was behind him.

He wasn’t sure what to expect from his team when he showed up, truly. Knowing they were big-timers working on a park-wide station in northern California, he guessed probably kinda high-end. It was the biggest relief in the world to know, then, that they _frequently_ looked to duct tape for fast repairs.  
“These are my kind of people…” The forklift breathed, watching a few of the base members, a couple of ground pounders, duking it out in the middle of the grounds over what he predicted to be the last of the coffee for the morning. They were everything his mental checklist saw for a type he could work with: loud, cusses at problems, coffee addict, and no pointless squabbles over sensitive feelings. They were hardy and down to earth, and he fit in with the team like a final puzzle piece to the picture.

However, life wasn’t all calm waters from then. Along his eventual _lifetime_ of interesting characters and their even more interesting stories, somehow he wound up in his own weird shenanigans, or had to get wrapped up in others.  
One such incident - if it could be called that - was when one of their resident parachuter firefighters - a Smokejumer they called them - apparently didn’t hear the mechanic’s name right. Rather than addressing the blue and grey forklift as Marvin, or “Marv” as he preferred, somehow he had gotten the impression that his name was Mar _u_. How that happened, he didn’t know to this day. The kid was pretty tone-deaf as it was, shouting across the base even to folks mere feet away from him.  
But somehow, off of that incident, everyone _else_ in the team started to catch on - chiefs included. Though some of them rightfully knew his name, because of the confusion that had arose with a couple of them, the name sort of ascended into a joke term. The tug mechanic just shrugged and went with it. Close enough. Hey, he’d been called worse before.  
Literal decades later, watching new members come and go, getting to work with his college friend Paul for several years, and even ending up teaching more than just working with some other tech recruits on the base, the name ‘Maru’ just stuck. The team couldn’t put logic to it, nor did they try. Most of the newcomers didn’t even know his real name.  
If they dared ask, of course he was open to explaining it all to them, but so long as they just knew him as the ol’ grump mechanic Maru, that was alright with him.

He still had his own garage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Entire story based off of a fun fact I found out about, while doing my usual research of anything and everything on the internet relating to Planes. Maru got his name after the team went to an aircraft mechanic’s garage for inspiration and research, etc. and met a one-armed mechanic there. The sign over the garage said “Maru’s garage” so they asked him, “Where’s Maru?” to which the man replied, “The name’s _Marv_.” His one-armed handwriting wasn’t the best out there, but it came to be how the tug in the film got his name. With this inspiration story in mind, I’ve to wonder, is his name his _“actual”_ name, or a _nickname_ like with all of the Smokejumpers? And why not it be? I mean, Blade in my HC is actually Blake, Dusty is short for Dustin, and I’m willing to bet Windlifter has his own namesake secrets he’ll never tell about. So then...where did a name like Maru come from?  
> -In actual research of the real name “Maru”, it has Japanese origin, meaning”round” or “circle”. Not a whole lot of inspiration sprouted from such a discovery, but it’s info.


	9. Trick of the Treats [Blade/Nick] - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fluff...I'm trash for these guys.
> 
> Nick doesn't have a filter, or limits, and doesn't know the meaning of the words "in moderation". This especially goes for sweets, and Blade has unwillingly become his personal babysitter.

Blade often felt like the babysitter around the set, particularly with some of the other actors and actresses. It wasn’t supposed to be _his_ job to make sure they all got to the set on time, stayed on a healthy- _ish_ diet and had something to call a sleep schedule, but it ending up being more of a side task for him than he’d have liked it to be.  
He couldn’t stop himself from caring, at least. His generous nature and will to put just about everyone else out there before himself earned him a reputation in the group that was something akin to motherly. But he knew them, and understood the kinds of things they all went through in their lives and in their fame, so it was like a second instinct that he went out of his way to be absolutely sure they were doing alright.  
Nick was another problem altogether. He was like that one kid in a classroom the teacher kept an extra eye on at all times. He was Blade’s own medicine, but also the reason for the majority of his stress in the first place. He had no filters - and no limits.  
It was only inevitable, Halloween night, that the sweet-toothed Hughes would be at it again; Blade had done his best to keep any spec of sugar-infested sweets he could out of the other’s system thus far, but he couldn’t keep him away from the Halloween party in town that hosted the unholiest buffet of candies. It was a sugarcoated deathtrap and his co-star was steering right for it.  
A part of Blade didn’t want to have to care. He didn’t want to have to deal with him tonight, put up with his literal off the _walls_ hyperactivity, or listen to his later complaints when he crashed, and the realisation that chocolate alone is not the wisest choice of diet - especially when you’re taking a three-course meal of it _in one sitting_. But if he didn’t try to get him away from the snack table, nobody else was man enough to go try and tell him no. Why did he always have to be the maid of the gang to clean all their messes…  
The October - soon to be November - air out in Washington was a lot chillier than Blade could stand for, as the two made their way back to their hotel rooms. They would be out here for a few days, working on a special episode out-of-state, and unfortunately, out where the weather was turning sharply towards winter.  
The sugar-high that Nick had gotten himself into was beginning to wear off, and with each awkward hop back to the room, the little blue and white helicopter’s face began to pale.  
“Don’t make me say it.” Blade said.  
“You don’t have to…” Nick replied. By morning he was sure the other would have _‘I told you so’_ written in bold red letters on his helm.  
Blade at least waited until they were back to the solitude of their hotel room to give him a talking-to. He didn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention out in the street, and Nick would likely appreciate not having to talk to vehicles and play it off like he was fine in his current condition. Besides, this was a private thing anyways, and so long as they could take care of it they hopefully wouldn’t have to bring it up again - especially considering it wasn’t the first time this had happened.  
“I could live with helping Maddie remember her lines. I could deal with Greg’s weird-ass sleeping schedule. But _why_ in Chrysler’s name do I have to put up with _your_ sweet tooth on such a _regular basis_!?” Blade scolded, as the other lay rather pathetically on his mat, stomach groaning as loudly as he was. The sugar-crash was taking a turn for the worst now, and as he’d carefully crawled his way into bed, the other had him prepared with a trash can by the end table - just in case.  
He knew he wouldn’t stay mad at him. He couldn’t, didn’t have it in him to. He was just disappointed, and endlessly frustrated with the Hughes, having no concept of pacing himself or setting limits. He was over-the-top in every way possible, good or bad, and he was an impulsive binger through and through. If it wasn’t for the sweets, he’d have guessed his tank was a bottomless pit.  
He eventually came over to lay with the younger male, giving into the pitiful sight of him on the mattress. His expression softened as he nuzzled into his partner’s side gently, purring. The other smiled appreciatively, pressing back against him.  
One way or the other, the older chopper hoped he would learn his lesson eventually. Wishful thinking, but maybe it just took some serious overboarding to get it through his thick skull that some things should only be enjoyed in moderation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I literally want to work on anything that _isn’t_ the thing I’m supposed to be working on. This was the result.  
> -I feel like Nick, being the “YOLO freak” that he is, would probably also be an impulsive food junkie. Blade on the other side of the spectrum probably doesn’t eat period, or just in really tiny amounts, so somewhere in the midst of their planets having collided, both eventually taught each other better habits. From one side of the scale to the other, they balanced each other out I guess.


	10. Nightmare [Dusty] - T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a vent piece, please excuse.

“ _Skipper!!_ ” The young plane’s voice had gone hoarse as he called for his mentor, the only one he could think of to help him. His body was wracked and tired, his landing gear finally giving into the strain as he labored for breath. Moving quickly from the ground was next to impossible for an aircraft, especially when you were trying to clamber through a thick, un-trailed patch of the forest.

The tree roots sticking up out of the ground tripped the former crop duster up; he fell with a hard thud into the ground, scrambling for his life to get back up again, only to find his right landing gear stuck under the surprisingly sturdy root. He yanked and pulled to the point he was sure the wheel might actually get taken off, but to no avail; he was stuck.  
He could hear the sounds behind him getting closer. Panic set in - he didn’t even know how to think rationally anymore. He fought against the root like a savage, tearing up the earth underneath him as he tried desperately to free himself before they caught up. If he had had a little more maneuverability, he’d have chewed the branch off at this point.

Finally, when it started to seem like there wasn’t a way out, the branch snapped off, sending him stumbling back a little into the brush. Now there was a new problem - namely, the fluid line torn open leaking over his landing gear, and the intense, throbbing pain that seared through it when he tried to put any weight on it.

But he couldn’t take care of it now, they were closing in. The shouts and movement of gravel and dirt grew nearer still, he needed to _move_.

Biting down hard into his cheek to hold in his screams, the orange and white plane proceeded to hobble through the thicket, trying to keep as much of his body weight on his left and back landing gear as possible. But every pothole or crevice in the ground he went over, it shifted back to his right one, sending another sharp, knife-like stab through him, reaching up through his wing even.

He could almost see the clearing, he was almost in the safe zone of visibility, where he was sure they wouldn’t try to follow him. It was too risky on their part to try. But then they were on him, mere feet away from the treeline, a cable suddenly wrapping tight around the side of his prop, between the bases of the sensitive prop blades. His front was yanked backward harshly, his weight moved back to his bad side, and he collapsed under the pain.

It was all he could do then, to scream and thrash and try to get himself just a _little_ bit further, towards that big open clearing where the hill rose up to the plateau that was his hometown. His left gear sunk into the ground, giving him just enough leverage on one side to pull and strain against the onslaught of ropes and cables. He held himself back from them as long as he could, obviously straining them as well in his desperate attempts, but he lucked out in the end. He began to slip, they were beginning to pull harder, and they were grabbing and pulling and waiting for him to give up.

His vision began to go fuzzy, either from the lack of oxygen or the addition of a drug in his system. Everything started fading into black and white, until purple spots flickered and popped in front of him and everything else started to spin. His breath was sharp and ragged, but the strain was quickly crumbling. And as soon as he thought he could make out the silhouette of his rescue, he finally succumbed to the hands of his captors.


	11. Unconditional [Dusty/Skipper] - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately following my short vent story, "Nightmare" [Ch. 10], Dusty goes to the one he can trust for comfort - and sleep.
> 
> also, this is me apologizing for my vent and being inexpressibly grateful for the people that are there for me when others aren't any more.

Dusty awoke with a gasp, choking for air as he was finally released from his nightmare. The little orange and white plane lay trembling in bed, fighting back hot tears. It had felt so _real_...  
He lay alone in his hangar for a few minutes, staring ahead mindlessly at the window; It was dark out, around the middle of the night. He contemplated going back to bed, but he couldn’t, didn’t want to. He didn’t want to go through that again.  
Wordlessly, he got up and left his own hangar. Even in the dead of night, with no lights on and no city glow, he knew the way. His soul seemed to guide him more than anything, times like this. It knew what it needed better than he did.  
The doors to Skipper’s hangar had been left unlocked. He’d left it that way for a while now, though the jury was out on whether it was because he knew the former crop-duster would have the habit of showing up in the middle of the night, or because he forgot to lock it in his old age. Perhaps it was a culmination of the two.  
The young plane nosed the door open enough to squeeze in. He could hear the gentle snoring of his companion from his sleeping mat, could just barely make out the corsair’s silhouette in the darkness. He closed the door behind him, sealing the two back in darkness.  
Sparky had begun to learn Dusty’s recent habits as well. When before he would end up getting up to peek from his own sleeping quarters to find the plane sleeping beside his mentor, now he seemed not to feel concerned about the occasional midnight visits, so when he appeared tonight there wasn’t a stir in the hangar.  
Dusty quietly climbed into Skipper’s sleeping mat with him, snuggling down beside the larger plane and resting his front against his wing. He could feel the war bird shuffle minutely, aware of his presence.  
There weren’t words, times like this. There never needed to be; They knew each other better than they could describe with words. And they didn’t try to hide that fact.  
It was one of the reasons the two of them bonded in the first place. More than just a shared love of racing knowledge, of just the trust between a mentor and a student, they _understood_ each other. They trusted each other. And when situations in one another’s lives came up, there wasn’t tension or unease between them. They just accepted it, they took in each other’s words and listened, not hesitating to tackle even the darkest of one another’s life mishaps. Most of them were Dusty’s problems anyways, but nonetheless Skipper took it in calm, collected strides. It was why he felt as safe as he did to just show up in the middle of the night and sleep beside him.  
Dusty stay awake for a while beside his companion, just thinking, being grateful for this. He didn’t know what he would have done if he wasn’t still here, times like these. Though he felt his own problems and insecurities were so minor to the likes of what he’d gone through, he was glad he could still have this, and just one that he could open up to and just be himself, even if that meant not being his _happy_ self. The warbird understood, and he didn’t question it.  
The rest of the night went on peacefully for the mentor and the student - not a peep came out of either until the light of the next morning. Skipper didn’t even seem surprised to find a little orange crop duster tucked into his side. He smiled, looking down at his charge, still sleeping rather peacefully while the light beams hadn’t gotten to his canopy yet.  
Life wasn’t perfect. Things happened, good and bad, big and small. But having someone like him to just _be_ there, someone like him that he could feel proud for being even just a small part of their life, made it all worth it in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Another super short quickie while I continue to psyche myself up for chapter 9 of Emergency, and maybe finishing my next one-shot project centered around the awkwardness between Blade and Skipper when they’re both with Dusty. It promises to be an interesting tale.
> 
> -Dedicated to some absolutely awesome people. StormBlazeP51, BobblyChicken...you guys are literally the greatest human beings on the face of the earth and I am endlessly grateful to have such understanding people, even in the most casual of cases, that are just there to listen. Long live the Proppies!


	12. Everything I Need [Blade/Nick] - M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *sigh*
> 
> This exists.  
> You people are monsters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **EXPLICIT CHAPTER!**   
>  _Skip if you don’t want to be scarred for life children!_

Few helicopters had it in them to push their own limits. Fewer still made a living out of it. But crazy as they said he was - which he agreed they were right - Nick never got any greater joy in his life than being a stunt performer. It was a passion, a life calling, and even when he first told his mother about the kinds of things he would get to do working with the show producers in Hollywood, she could only shake her front - she couldn’t stop him anyways, and the boy would never be happier.  
Some nights he felt lonely for not having another around that shared his passion. But over time, he came to understand that he didn’t need to. He found company and friendship with some of the least expected, but they worked. Even the one he felt he didn’t have any connections with, who ended up a closer companion that he ever could have imagined.  
Nick was still young. And with that youth, there was also a lot of, as the professionals might call it...stupidity. The kind of “Tell a man there’s wet paint, and he has to touch it to be sure” stupidity.

Or the kind of “you need to get hurt before you learn” stupidity.

One such occasion, the first of it’s kind on the set for CHoPs, went as you might expect; Nick got a little too cocky in his confidence of landing straight and center every time, and when he’d meant to cut the engine early and just plop onto the pavement in his intuitive fashion, the wind decided to be a prankster and pulled his still spinning rotors back up, and he’d had to land jarringly on the back point of his right skid, hard enough to actually snap the brace of it.  
Blade had never heard spanish curse words before until then. What he also learned was that, being bilingual, Nick had a rather colorful selection of words from both sides. Every other word or so, Blade would catch a word in English rather than Spanish, or some odd hybridization of the two mid-speech, like a broken translator. In a way though, he kinda was then.  
That was the first time he’d ended up paying for it on the set, though thankfully it was far from the worst. It took a few more karma-like paybacks before the rest of the team understood that, yes, he’s one of _those_ types. His ego never failed him, even when it did.  
Despite the injuries, though, the spirited Hughes never stopped for a second. He was an ambitious soul, and he couldn’t rest until his latest goal had been reached. He had brought up an idea for an impossible-sounding stunt one day, and then all that week he did nothing else but practice and attempt the impossible until he got it. A day of resting later, he was back at it, trying to perfect what he’d already accomplished.  
But something stirred in his partner’s mind. As of late, he’d realized the adrenaline junkie had veered away from his usual routines, seeming to focus more on paying attention to his social life - as though he were a narcissist enough already. He wasn’t complaining, though; He’d find the smaller helicopter more often away from their work, and they’d found more opportunities in the late weeks to converse. By all accounts it was a great thing that he was putting his risk-taking habits on the backburner. But then…why hadn’t he gone stir-crazy yet, not having himself a new goal, or some new limit to reach? What was keeping him at bay?

The answer, the Agustawestland came to realize, was _him_.

It was a pretty well-known fact that Blade and Nick were partners, on _and_ off of the set. But most didn’t seem to look past that. In truth, over the time spent together and the secrets shared and guarded by one another, it came to the younger’s mind that he really did have a ‘thing’ for Blade. But he had always felt it was too out-of-place to ask. Not here and now, while they had life and work and their non-romantic bond to care for. To mention it now could mean the end of it all.  
But Nick was terrible at hiding things. Blade was surprised he kept his secrets as well as he did - well, the actually important ones at least. He could live with a few others knowing about guilty past-times. It didn’t take long though for the older male to suspect his companion was holding back important information.  
It was in the way he would shut himself up suddenly in a conversation, they way he’d look away as though he was embarrassed, caving in on himself or huddling into the blankets when they’d sit and chill in Blade’s sleeping quarters (simply put, his was actually clean and managed compared to Nick’s) that confused him. How could someone so confident suddenly become so quiet around someone he knew, well and truly, for so long?  
“You don’t have to hide things from me, you know.” Blade commented, barely even glancing up from his novel. He thought he heard the other try to suppress a squeak, or fail at trying to more like.  
“I’m fine, I’m not hiding anything from you!” The other replied quickly.  
This time Blade _did_ look up from his book, long enough for Nick to address the heavy crease of disbelief over his eyelids. Nick looked like he was about to return a compelling argument, but couldn’t find a better excuse, and so deflated again immediately with a sigh.  
“Look, it’s nothing, I don’t want to freak you out.”  
“There’s literally nothing you could have done that’s worse than what _I’ve_ done. It’s not going to freak me out.” Blade said.  
“Well it’s not...like it’s not about something specific, it’s…” the younger chopper drew his mouth into a tight line, trying to come up with a way to phrase it, “...it’s about you.”  
“Me?”  
“Mhm.”  
“I don’t follow. What’s so special about me?” Blade asked.  
“Well you’re- I mean…” Nick wanted so badly to bail from the conversation, but it was too late now. “We’ve...known each other for a long time now. What, like three years?”  
“Something like that.”  
“And we promised we’d always be there for each other - and I mean we _are_ ,”  
“Yeah..”  
“And I dunno, lately I’ve just felt like, you know...I don’t really think of you as a _friend_ anymore..”  
“You… _what_?” Blade’s face was the picture of utter confusion.  
“No not in a bad way! I mean, like...uhhhg I can’t… _words_ , I just, you know, I started thinking maybe we could be something _more_ than just friends, you know like…”  
“Like...partners?”  
“Yeah, but more..”  
“Hang on, wait,” Blade moved to look Nick straight in the eyes, “Are you trying to say you _like_ like me?”  
“...Yes?”  
Blade’s expression was somewhere along the lines of dumbfounded, as though he literally couldn’t process the information he’d just been given. He wasn’t even looking at Nick anymore, his eyes just drifting off towards space.  
“I totally get it if you don’t want me to bring it up again,” Nick stammered, back-pedalling into his hole, “I mean I know it’s totally crazy, and obviously that couldn’t ever work, especially considering how dodgey it could be, but I just wanted to get it off my helm so I could relax a little more and--”

Nick couldn’t finish his sentence from the pressure of the other’s lips against his.

Time stopped. Nothing else in the world mattered to either of them, not more than what stood right before them. There was a feeling that sparked in the hearts of them both, stronger than any spark they’d felt before. This wasn’t a one-time deal, or an attempt to just make something work until it didn’t. This was someone they knew, someone they already gave their heart to before they even realized they had. This didn’t just feel _good_ , it felt _right_.  
Tilting slightly, the Agustawestland had meant to hold just for a moment longer before pulling off, but as he went to do so, Nick just took him back again, playing a nibble at his lower lip that left his head spinning. Who cared about being caught now, this was beyond right for the both of them. They wanted, no, _needed_ this, this next step in their bond. All this time, Nick had been preying on his goal, yet waiting for the confirmation that he was ready and willing to take this further. Now, he could definitively say, as they instinctively went into a series of slower, passionate kisses, that he was finally _his_.  
Blade was truly surprised at his partner’s skill in showing his affections. He’d known that the Hughes had a pretty extensive history with lots of other vehicles, and from the number of them that would try to come back, he’d say he was something of a favorite, but he’d never considered he could be _this_ good, even in the little details. But Nick was a passionate lover through and through - he couldn’t be happy unless he knew the other was more than satisfied. And from the sounds the other had stopped trying to suppress, he’d say he’d already reached his goal.  
Blade eventually got the courage to try to take control over the other, after falling apart at the other's touch. He drew his tongue across the other’s lips, and he immediately opened up for him, offering that freedom to explore. The short little gasps and hums the younger made were well complimented with the taste of his tongue - sweet, with a very subtle twang.  
All too soon, the two of them weren’t even aiming for their lips, Nick starting to drift down to leave whispering trails of his mouth along Blade’s chin and across his left cheek. A feeling of something straight-up feral sparked in the younger’s mind, and he wondered distantly if he’d get the chance tonight to do something he’d always wanted to do with the Agustawestland. But only if he knew he was ready.  
He was pretty adept at discerning the other’s reactions to what he did, and he would always slow down or change his approach when he sensed the shudder of hesitation or reluctance from the older male. When he’d moved down to press against his flank, making a subtle downward motion against him with his body, Blade practically jumped and shied away, clearly not ready to go quite that far. Nick backed up enough to look his partner in the eyes;  
“Hey, It’s okay,” he tried to reassure, “no rush.”  
“No it’s fine, I mean I trust you, I just…” Blade stammered, shifting uncomfortably on the mat, “I just..never have, not like this..”  
“Well if it makes you feel better, I haven’t either.” Nick said, giving his partner a gentle nuzzle, “so it’s new to both of us.”  
“Really, _you_ haven’t done this before?” Blade questioned. Nick playfully rolled his eyes,  
“I don’t usually go for guys is all. I saved that experience for you..”  
“I’m flattered.” Blade said, somewhere on the verge of a lighthearted tease. Nick just smiled and stuck his tongue out at him - to which the other took as an opportunity to claim his mouth again, pulling him in with a surprised sounding ‘Mm!’. The way he just fell limp to the other’s touch was flattering indeed.  
It wasn’t long before the Hughes made to try again, taking more time warming the other up and acting more predictably on the other’s behalf. Blade could tell he was beginning to strain to hold himself back, though. He already waited such a long time just to know that his feelings were reciprocated, and now that he knew, his instinctual desires were beginning to override any sense of self-dignity or self-preservation. To hell if anyone found out about tonight, this was their moment.  
Despite his earlier hesitation, Blade tried not to move away from Nick when he tried again. They were both delving into new territory, but neither would be comfortable with it until they tried. It wasn’t until the younger male’s tongue dragged across his first panel that his reluctiveness suddenly ebbed away.  
“Hhuh! Mm..”  
He didn’t try to keep himself from falling apart, he knew he’d be fighting a losing battle, just from the sensations of the smaller chopper’s tongue running along the crease of his panel, coaxing him to open up to him. He hung limply over the Hughes, panting and trying to keep his engine from overheating completely, as his panel was pulled back and the other’s tongue began to delve in between the rubbery tissue of his slit, where he seemed to be waiting for something else.  
“Mm..” The white and blue helicopter drove his tongue deeper into the other, pressing and swirling and starting to grow impatient, “C’mon… _show me_...” he muttered under Blade’s tail.  
If Blade had chewed his lip any harder he may have broken through the metal to a fluid line; He held himself back, not because he didn’t want to do this anymore, but because he was genuinely nervous of what the other might think. But as his partner’s impatience grew, he nipped at him teasingly, sending a shudder through his body strong enough he couldn’t help but let himself go.  
His malehood slid out before he even knew what was happening. He scarcely remembered the feeling of breathing, before it was sharply taken away from him as the other didn't even give him the chance to prepare for his assault.  
Never had he believed it could become this, a dream of such erotia turned to reality, sweeter than all his thoughts of the smaller helicopter combined. He wasn't even in control anymore, as much as he fought to act like he was. Nick had overtaken him - mentally _and_ physically.

"Hu-hhaaa, N-Nick! Oohh fuck!"

If Blade hadn't been well-balanced on his locking landing gear, he'd have easily fallen over at this point - not that either would complain. Nick was simply too much for his body to handle, let alone control - his tongue, though not experienced, found all the best places with such ease, leaving the larger helicopter shuddering and stuttering above him, completely his to take over.  
Nick tilted further, pushing himself into Blade's underside as he took as much if him as he could, not caring whether or not it stung to have his dick wedged halfway down his throat. He could take it.

"M-mmm!"

The identically painted chopper above him panted and moaned, unable to discern the floor from the ceiling anymore. Every fiber of his being centered around the incomprehensible sensations, and it wouldn't be long before he'd truly be finished.  
Turned out, it was much sooner than Nick thought, as between the moving over and pulling back off of his partner's rod, he suddenly felt a strong jerk in his body, causing him to take him back early and make him almost gag. But oh, he felt so fucking _good_ , he didnt want him to just bust and finish early! Almost regretfully, he pulled himself off of him, lips sliding over every detail of his member before he left.  
Blade looked back in a truly interesting mixed package of euphoria, confusion, and hints of anger, in a way only the likes of the ever-complex Blade could really pull off. Nick moved back to his mouth, gently pressing and licking and giving him just a taste of what he'd just gotten.  
"You're..done already?" He finally asked, in between his partner's loving pecks.  
"Without letting you finish? Noo, I'm not that heartless." The other replied, in his suave fashion, "Actually though, I might have a better idea…"  
"You couldn't if you tried." Blade said, when he realized what the other meant. There was his locking mechanisms in his landing gear firstly, and more noticeably there was their very different weights. Blade easily tripled the stunt-chopper's tiny frame, and as ambitious as he was, Nick did not physically have it in him to get him on his side. Nor did they have a good plan of keeping him from slamming into the floor even if he did.  
"Maybe we don't need to…" The other hinted.  
Blade quirked a brown, "What are you gettin' at?"  
"If I just had something to...grab onto.." The Hughes said, eyes drifting off in that way they did when he was getting another one of his crazy ideas.  
And then the imaginary lightbulb above his head went off.

"Your _hoist_!"

"...No. No, no, you're crazy, there's no way you can-"  
"Oh why can't I?" Nick said, not listening, "I've dragged you back by your cable before, I'm no strain on it, all you'd have to do is get it up around your rotor hub…"  
"Why...do you get these awful, colorful ideas?" Blade concluded, staring at his partner in frustrated reluctance. He finally broke the fight with a sigh.  
"You break something, you pay for it. And if you fall on your aft I'm not helping you up." Nick's thousand-and-one-watt smile was enough at least to ease the helicopter.  
This was bound to be an interesting experiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What have you people done to me?


	13. Hell Has Hostess Snacks [Blade/Nick] - E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More indulgent adult crap - again, skip if not interested, it's not gonna have any easter eggs or plot details for other stories in it. It's just what it looks like. Found a short story idea in a binder full of my story prompts - this became the horrific result. It got worse, ladies and gentlemen.  
>  _Nick has endless energy, and when forced to hold it in, he becomes more than restless and eager for his partner. Blade finally gets tired of his shenanigans and puts him in his place. *very not subtle wink*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-----
> 
> **EXPLICIT CHAPTER!**  
>  _Skip if you don’t want to be scarred for life children!_
> 
> \-----

It was a cold night. Not a windy or a rainy one, just cold. The room was slightly chilled, enough to make the outside metal of the two helicopter’s bodies chilled to the touch. It was why the Agustawestland jumped a little when his mate decided he’d been cold - and bored - long enough, and moved in for some snuggling.  
To his disappointment, however, the older male shrugged him off again, not even bothering to look up from his late-night reading to pay any special attention to the needy Hughes. Nick sat pouting beside him, until he gave him another nudge.  
“I know your game.” Blade said, eyes not even wavering from scrolling across the words on the page, “You’re gonna come over here and then play your trump cards to get me to screw with you, is that right?”  
“...Maybe.” The other admitted.  
“M’yeah, I’m good, thanks.” The older one concluded. It wasn’t that he was against spending a good time with his partner; As of late, he’d felt they’d been getting closer and closer to the edges of keeping them under wraps, and sooner or later, he felt, someone would say something about it. He was already fighting to keep his position in the show with one of the producers, he really didn’t want to give them _more_ leverage to get him off the front row seats. And he did cherish what moments he could get with his lover - even if they were heavily restrained by their day-to-day lives. They had to hold in all the little things, reserve themselves until they were sure they could be alone - which, in their worlds, was only at ridiculously late times in the night in their hangars, and only when they were sure no one would since pick up on the fact they were sharing a hangar for the night...again.  
But they had been pushing their limits even then, to the point he was considering they either tried to soundproof the room and make a buyable excuse as to why, or find a way to effectively shut the both of them up every night. Reluctantly, the Bell hybrid made the call to make their private times more spread out, and no more than twice a week - he was already feeling that he’d been sleep-deprived now that he could get back to an eight-hour schedule.  
Nick wasn’t happy about the changes, obviously. He was already straining to hold himself back just during the daytime, and now he was being rejected completely more often than not, even when it was technically safe and okay to. He’d go off with others instead to distract himself, but ultimately he’d grown desperate for the helicopter’s attention, and getting him to cave to his antics was getting harder and harder to do. Especially when he wouldn’t even let him sidle up against him.  
“How long is this book…” He asked, his skids slowly sliding apart under him until he flopped down on his belly into the blankets. It was his ‘standard’ for sleeping, less wobbly since - unlike Blade - he didn’t have the luxury of lockable landing gear.  
“I wasn’t gonna read it all in one night.” Blade said.  
“Feels like it…”  
“I’m two thirds of the way through this chapter, you can wait.”  
The younger chopper’s eyes lit up at his words; could it be, did he plan to _actually_ fulfill the other’s wish when he was done? Oh please let it be so!  
Even as the older male finished on the last two pages of the chaptered tale, he could feel the other growing restless on the bed, scooting over to nip at his side playfully, just waiting to jump him.  
He gave no indication that he’d finished the story when he did. He waited and watched from the corner of his eye as the smaller chopper practically clambered over him, eagerly waiting for the O-K. When he did finally put the bookmark back in and set the book back on the table, Nick didn’t even give him the room to breathe before he claimed his mouth.  
“Mm- Nick--” The Agustawestland pulled off of the other, turning a cheek to him as he greedily tried to go for more, “Pace yourself a little bit, geez. I’m not even in the mood yet.”  
“But it’s been _days_ now, and you haven’t let me do anything!” The smaller heli whined, “How can you _not_ get worked up?”  
“Because I know the meaning of patience,” He explained, “And you know good things will come to those who wait.”  
The other gave him a sly grin, “And after all that waiting, you deserve the _best_ thing!”  
Blade just rolled his eyes. “Oh do I?” He asked, playing along in the other’s little game - for now, anyways. He had other plans that could get the horny bastard off of him for a little while at least.  
Nick moved back in for a wet kiss, tongue sliding through easily - like the larger male already knew his move. But as they went into a more steady session, the little skidded helicopter suddenly had his leading privileges removed. Blade took the lead as he sucked down on the other’s tongue, getting a short but sweet-sounding “mm!” out of him for his effort.  
The larger male found it rather humorous to see his mate deprived of his explorative freedom. He _always_ led, and he always found his way on top. It wasn’t that Blade didn’t mind or anything, but he’d felt things were getting a little old. He wanted to spice things up, and he wanted to get him off his tail for a while. And he had an idea to kill two birds with one stone.  
“Your rotors fold too, don’t they?” He asked, when he’d finally let go of the other’s tongue - though not after giving it a few nips with his teeth.  
“Mm..kinda. But not the way yours do..”  
“Show me.”  
The younger seemed hesitant at first from Blade’s odd-sounding request, but he did as he was told. His rotors, even though he had five instead of four, _did_ in fact fold back in the event that he was ever indoors in a cramped enough space he wouldn’t want them extended. Two sets folded like normal even-numbered rotors did, but his fifth clicked into place with the top set - a little offsetting with weight distribution, but not as much as if he’d only had three.  
“Hm..guess I can work with that.” Blade said.  
“What are you..” Nick began to ask, but was cut off as the other than shoveled his nose under his body, pushing him up and over. Compared to the Agustawestland, Nick was tiny, lighter than most helis considering his stunt-copter modifications (mainly just the removal of heavy weights, exchanges for lighter metals, etc.)  
“Oof!” He’d finally tipped him onto his side, the smaller chopper falling back onto the bed with a slight thud - light, but not the light _est_. At least he didn’t have to worry about impact as much, surrounded by pillows. The larger male smiled down at his partner, admiring his work.  
“So who gets to top now?” He teased. Nick bit his lip, wriggling a bit on the bed - it wasn’t like he could protest at this point, but he definitely had the right to feel nervous.  
“Just..be gentle.” He said, voice a little higher than he’d have liked it to be. Blade leaned down to give him a reassuring nuzzle, “Don’t worry, I’ll have you good and tired after this…”  
Nick watched as the larger heli pressed against him, finding what strokes against him would be the easiest or the best feeling. He admitted it was a rather erotic feeling, even without the chopper in him, just having both their sensitive underbellies against each other, in a whole closeness neither had ever truly experienced before. Things were easiest, they found, when Nick could lay his outer skid against Blade’s side, pulling it out of the way for him to reach.  
As he’d started warming the other up, Blade began to kiss and suck at the smooth white metal down the little stunt copter’s chin and between his skids. The smaller male squeaked and hummed under him, body twitching and trying to shy away only to be trapped between Blade’s weight and the bedding. And then he’d backed himself down to the base of his tail, where he’d soon have his prize. He knew the other was eager for him, any part of him, to be all over that needy paneling, but Blade felt like being a teaser, and only once did he let his tongue drag across the opening to the other’s primaries. There was something delicious about watching the little guy squirm and writhe in anticipation, only to be forced to wait longer still for the other to finally take him all the way. Here he was thinking he was always the best leader, when it turns out _not_ doing everything right away only led to desire and pleads from the victim, and the sweetest prize at the end.  
When it seemed no end to his torment would come, Nick finally felt the other pressing his phallus against his underside. With a low moan, Blade settled down over the other’s frame, pushing up into his tight little body.  
“Aahh!” Nick tried to hold onto his senses as he felt the other stretch him, but he couldn’t hold down the rich sounds that came up from his throat as Blade pushed deeper still.  
He was so tight - Blade hadn’t anticipated just how good he’d feel, walls tensing up around his cock as he started to move. And their bodies were so hot, pressed up against each other, constantly rubbing and moving together; Why hadn’t he decided to do this a long time ago??  
He started to buck against the smaller heli, loving his sharp cries every time he penetrated him, and the way he shivered against him, crying out his name in lust-driven ecstasy. He lowered himself further over the Hughes, really pushing his weight onto him as he fucked him. Both of them could barely hold themselves together, between Blade's pants and Nick's cries, their grunts and groans, and the languid noises that came with every delve of the Agusta's robust shaft into the Hughe's slick insides.  
Then something outside made a loud sound, and both of them went ice cold. Blade froze mid-thrust, pushing himself back down into Nick and holding himself there, waiting for the potential threat to go away. However, as he stood over the helicopter, eyes glued to the hangar doors, he could feel the younger tensing up around his pulsing dick, making it hard for him to focus. Or stay quiet.  
"Nn..mmm…" he bit his lip hard as he tried to hold still. He could have backed out, but they might've lost the feel of it after, and Nick's tight insides were addictively good. He needed to _move_...  
"It-Its gone now..whatever it was.." The younger male said, trying to prompt Blade to start again. When he thought he hadn't heard him, he was about to say it again until-  
"HAAh! Oooh _fuck_!" He bucked hard into the smaller male, hitting a sweet spot dead center and making him jerk and scream despite the earlier threat. All too quickly, he picked his pace up again, finding exactly where the stunt heli would be the most sensitive and diving in.  
"Ahh, hahhh, Blaaade!" The little chopper wailed under him, so close to release…  
Blade shoved his length into him one last time, hitting his peak as he spilled into the others insides. He could feel Nick hitting his too, causing their combined fluids to drain back out - and smear all across the younger's underside.  
"When...were you so freaking _messy_?" Nick said, in between lustful pants as he came off of their sex high.  
"When I decided to turn the tables on you." Blade answered, "whadda ya say, are you up for round _two_?"  
"Hah- no, no no, I'm spent, I'm spent!" Nick protested, as the other feigned another advancement on him.  
"Good, now don't be bugging me." He settled back down on the blankets beside his partner, until he noticed him give an awkward little wiggle.  
"Aren't you forgetting something?" He asked.  
"What, you want a cleaning service too?" Blade asked with a smirk.  
"Ha ha. No, I'd like to get _up_ dumbass! ...and then maybe."

"You're spoiled, you know that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -It was since believed that skidded helis couldn’t ‘do it’ on the ground, well I’m here to disagree! Somewhat, anyways. I think between two skid-helis it might be a little less doable. Good thing Blade’s got wheels. :P  
> -I swear to you I am done for now! I just wanted to do this so I could get it out of my head, and I wanted to say I’ve actually done one of these all the way through (after my not-actually-all-the-way piece beforehand) so now I’m done...for now. But I'm learning, so...expect others at some point in the future probably. We'll see what happens.


	14. Sick, But Hungry [Dusty] - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title sounds so messed up now that I look at it. I swear this isn’t more smut! It’s fluffy PG cuddly comforting things where Dusty is bitching about being sick with a stomach flu and can’t binge-eat like he’s used to. Enjoy sweet potato misery!  
> More of a drabble then anything, but it's still worth posting!

“Uhgg…” if the orange and white plane could have rolled onto his side, he would’ve - it may have been more comfortable. Even hours of lounging around later, he didn’t feel any better than he had when he got home.  
For the last few days, in the midst of another big racing season, the former crop duster seemed to have come down with a mild bug, and while medicine took the edge off of it for a couple of big races, the virus still hadn’t gone away. By the time he was supposed to be in Tennessee for another air rally, he’d finally been forced to sit it out at home until the sickness let up. And it wasn’t until he’d gotten back home did they all realize how much he’d been pushing himself through this.  
“You look like hell!” Skipper commented, as the young plane merely plopped down onto his mat, too tired and weak to voice his discomfort. He probably shouldn’t have been allowed to fly himself back home, but he didn’t really want to wait to come back to a soft bed full of familiar blankets and pillows with which to bury himself in.  
“Mh..” He snuggled into his array of sleep things, hoping to settle into a quiet afternoon nap…although that didn’t really happen.

Skipper remained with him off and on throughout the day, popping in to check on him like some house cleaning maid, and leaving again at the notice that the kid had barely even moved from his spot, a groan coming out here and there as his tanks twisted and not much else.  
He felt awful - engine too hot and body too cold, stomach in knots and too uncomfortable to actually sleep. It was starkly outside of his usual routines, and what’s worse there was nothing to do now but wait.

He couldn’t eat. That seemed to upset him the most. He was a food binger as much as he was an adrenaline junkie, and it was no problem getting him up to adequate, healthy weights for racing. If anything, he felt like he could actually _lose_ a little bit - at least then Skipper wouldn’t poke him teasingly about it. But the fact stood that he was a grazer between meals, and he had a pretty healthy appetite.  
Now, just the thought of trying to keep something down made his tanks tighten up. Even water wouldn’t hold anymore - on _and_ off the tracks. And the warbird was starting to worry.  
He’d nudged the young racer in the later hours of evening, hoping to coax some lighter food into him, or a can of oil at least. He turned his head away like a toddler refusing their vegetables, opting to sink further into his blanket-fort. The older plane eventually gave up, leaving him to a long, difficult night in his hangar. But at least he was home again.

The next morning proved just as meddlesome. Skipper was getting tired of the kid trying to refuse to eat.  
"C'mon, _one_ bite." He offered, "and then I'll leave you alone."  
"Don't want it…" the young plane protested. It was only bread, but he wouldn't take it. Not even with a little bit of apple butter on it.  
"Dusty, it's been nearly twenty-four hours since you've eaten anything. You need to eat _something_."  
He continued trying to get the crop duster to take a bite, and when the orange and white plane finally seemed to snap, opening his mouth to tell him to lay off, the bread was practically forced down his throat. Way to seize the opportunity, old bird.  
Unfortunately, it was a short-lived victory. Though the plane did chew and eventually swallow the piece, it didn't stay down for very long. Five minutes maybe.  
"Uhhg…" His front looked paler than ever. He got up shakily from his mat, only to stumble outside in just enough time that the remnants of what he tried to ingest narrowly missed the pavement and went over the grass instead.  
"Oh, Dusty...I'm sorry." Skipper said, leading him back to his mat, and feeling guilty for trying to make him eat.  
Dusty fell back into bed, defeated and shivering. His mentor lay down beside him, a wing over his back protectively as he slept. He knew he had come home pretty rugged, but he didn't think he'd be this bad.  
His cheeks were warm to the touch, his livery dark and murky. His flanks were starting to look sunken in, as though he hadn't been eating, _period_ , since he'd come down with the virus. It had been twenty-four hours since Skipper had seen him try to eat, but who knows how long before that he actually had. He had been away at the rallies for weeks, and who knows if anyone there was watching to see if he was taking in anything.  
Skipper pressed into Dusty's side, hoping that soon they'd see some improvement out of him. They eventually broke out the "planket" as they so-called it, a plane blanket meant to be fastened around their body to allow them to still move freely. Dusty’s, like so many other planes, had a custom-make for his size and model, that could reach around his fuselage to fit snugly around. It saved the trouble of him having to constantly untangle himself from the mess of fabrics just to go throw up a few times.  
It wasn't until the second day home had almost come to a close did the group _finally_ see lasting improvement. The crop duster had been reduced to taking a very basic, formula-like drink to keep his nutriance up, and it was the first thing that didn't come back up right away. He still whined and complained about having to take it, but once they knew he could, Skipper made every point to make sure he took it down. Otherwise, he threatened to force it down - jokingly of course. Well, probably...  
But once started on it, Dusty started seriously improving again. He got to eat bread again for the first time the following day, and so long as he took his time and didn't hork it down, he was alright. His feverishly warm engine finally stopped too, and he was regaining energy and strength from being a shivering mess covered in blankets.  
Finally, for the first time since he left back home, Dusty felt normal again. No longer dragging and nauseated, by day three he took to the skies again for a few practice runs. The air sweeping across his frame felt fresh and much needed, and only aided in a fast recovery.  
“I still don’t know how you even got sick to begin with,” Dottie said, more to herself than to Dusty as she went through their regular maintenance check for the day, “Even in your usual situations, you shouldn’t be sick so easily except for prolonged expos--” And then she stopped, already aware of the rest of the story.  
“Okay, well afterparties have really great food too, so…” Dusty could already feel the rising anger in his mechanic’s frame. Of _course_ he didn’t listen to her before he left and had gorged himself on junk food anyways, because he couldn’t contain his sweet tooth or pace his systems in their limits of breaking down solid items. Of _course_ that was why his engine was so suddenly gunked up and sickly. And of _course_ that was why, after a week’s worth of food for one night and a week’s length without any, he had been so thin and so out of it...  
“I’ll uh...I’ll show myself out then!” He chirped, and without another word he took off. Well, at least his systems were clean and clear…  
For now...


	15. Wintertime [PPAA/PJ] - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the result of a failed start at a crossover series (I may still do it so no spoilers yet), which I then used to make into a super fluffy G rated you're-going-to-get-nothing-but-goodness-out-of-this-piece drabble.
> 
> G for a whole lot of nothing interesting. XD

Opinions were pretty mixed about wintertime at the Lodge. While the Smokejumpers argued it was the best weather there was - fires were the least of their concerns, and there was enough ice packed each year for all the snow forts they could build - most of the rest of the air attack agreed that it was simply too cold, too wet, and too chilly to be anywhere but a foot away from the fireplace in the mess hall.  
For some members, there _were_ legitimate reasons for needing - more than wanting - to stay indoors. Blade for one had rotor blades and hydraulics under thin sheet metal to worry about, and while Cabbie’s certainly been through worse, the icy atmosphere left him pretty cramped up and sluggish until his engines heated back up.  
Opinionated as they might have been about the weather, the team still did their best to work as well as ever, even in the colder climate. This year specifically was one of the few that everyone was on the base together. Normally, all but the mechanic, the chief, the vet and at least two of the Smokejumpers would be away until about April, but the fire season this year went longer than expected, and the winter season hit them before fall could even whisk by, so none of the base even had plans to leave yet for the off-seasons.  
Even more surprisingly, Dusty was with them as well, though not technically on duty. Before the bustle of the holidays really kicked in, he and his Propwash Junction team made a plan for a week getaway at the Lodge, to check it out and catch up with folks, and also _totally_ not because the SEAT had forgotten things in his hangar when they lent it to him. He couldn’t _possibly_ be the forgetful type.  
Since he’d never properly introduced everybody during that summer’s corn festival, Dusty took it upon himself to let his Propwash group and his Piston Peak gang actually get to sit and get to know one another. After all, they were the two sides of the folks that had saved his life before. And he had a feeling they could all become pretty good friends.  
Particularly speaking, Sparky and Skipper hit it off pretty well with Cabbie, reminiscing about the olden days and some shenanigans, good and bad, within their war pasts. Sparky especially was pretty engaged in their group conversation, something pretty uncommon for the pittie unless he was with Chug.  
Speaking of, Chug, as well as Dusty - more being dragged into it and away from hearing Skipper’s cool stories - went to a snowball war with the Smokejumpers in the middle of the base, with Blade and Windlifter spectating - from a respectable distance.  
“Who do you think will get clobbered in the windshield first?” Blade asked.  
“The bigger target.” Windlifter said plainly.  
Of course, as predicted, when Avalanche tossed a pretty decently sized snowball over their fortress, the orange and white plane was hit, in the dead center of his canopy with an audible _‘clunk!’_ and a _‘thud!’_ as he stumbled into a bank of snow.  
“Good call.” The chief commented.  
But of course, the ever-exuberant crop duster just jumped back up and shook off the snow with a little chirp of his engine, and made to get his revenge on the dozer.  
Lastly in the conversation groups, there were the remaining forklifts - Maru, Patch, and Dottie - who seemed to flit between conversations with the other groups and among themselves. They all heartily agreed that Dusty was _the_ most determined and yet stubbornly narrow-minded plane in the fireteam. But, as Maru then let the two girls know, Blade was about the same level of stubborn in his prime.  
Of course, he _also_ said this while in earshot of said red and white chopper, who gave him back an icy glare - from under the outer-wear “heli-blanket” of course - that he took as both embarrassment and proof that, yeah, he’s still like that.  
The fun and chatting out on the frozen base finally fizzled out once the Chug, Dusty, and the Smokejumper gang were all tired and wet from their exhilarating snow-day games, opting to go in and warm up by the fire in the mess hall. The others all followed suit, and then later decided on food for the evening.  
Windlifter and Drip took up the offer to cook, and Sparky even tagged along too - an odd combination, but with genuinely interesting conversation topics from within the kitchen. And as per the usual, as Dynamite and Avalanche then brutally jabbed at, Blade was banned from any and all kitchen-related anything. He couldn’t even be allowed to stand in the door frame between the two rooms. Too many cooking incidents went into those bans, as the Smokejumpers all explained to the Propwash crew (Dusty included).  
“Everyone _but_ the chief cooks at least once in a while.” Dynamite said, “But he does us a bigger favor by _not_ helping.”  
“DISASTER CHEF!” Avalanche blurted.  
“I’m surprised that isn’t my new call sign yet.” Blade said.  
“Do you want it to be?” Maru said, looking hopeful.

The evening was concluded with the group surrounding the mess hall tables, conversations between every two or three individuals. Skipper and Blade finally got around to chatting - though unlike the others, they did already know each other - and Dusty got into a debate with Drip, Cabbie and Sparky over the existence of supernaturals. The air tractor remained pretty quiet though, already knowing about the existence of one…  
At the end of the day though, everyone had a great get-together, all hoping they could get to do it again someday soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy not-holidays! Seriously though, it...it’s June...


	16. Dancing...I Think [Blade/Nick/Dusty] - E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is everyone - the _coup de grâce_ of my insanity. This is the most not-safe-for-anyone thing I've ever written. But if you're brave enough (or stupid enough, I'm not sure which) then feel free to enjoy however you see fit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title inspired by Vicky Vale’s “Dancing” - yeah yeah, the song from Initial D. Meme fuel. But it’s a good song anyways, really. And I can see Nick loving the crap out of this song, too!
> 
> **  
>  EXPLICIT CONTENT!!!  
>  **
> 
> What hell hath I created???  
> ***Also, we’re just gonna not address the fact that this is an alternate universe exactly like the film except that Nick does not die, _solely_ so I can use it as an excuse to write some Blade/Nick/Dusty smut. That is the least of your worries. Now enjoy!

"C'moon, it'll be _fun_!" The Hughes persuaded, "You won't regret it, _trust me_."  
"I dunno…" Dusty told him, landing gear scribbling into the dirt as he stood hesitating outside the two heli's shared hangar. It didn't matter how curious he was of the other two's ‘personal time’, he just didn't feel right about going in _with_ them, even though they had extended a personal invitation to him. It was a whole new level of foreignness and unfamiliarity, not to mention the moral injustice of engaging with a legal couple in their activities. He came at first to politely decline the offer, but as he had, the white and grey Hughes had to persuade him further. And the more he persuaded, the less sane the crop duster felt.  
"I-I'm not so sure..how I- m!" His own words were sucked out of his mouth as the helicopter swooped in to plant a kiss over it, the action immediately bringing heat over his entire front, turning his paint about as red as Blade's. He forgot how unabashedly open the younger of the two helis was in his actions, probably because he didn’t hang out with Nick as often. Dusty wasn’t around to see him at home because by then he’d be off to his racing season, and by the time summer came around to help in Piston Peak, Nick was at it in LA for his own career path.  
"C'mon, just try it," he coaxed, "we'll go easy on you… _maybe…_ " the end of his sentence trailed off in a playful whisper as he invaded the others personal space bubble, nuzzling and front-rubbing and reasoning all the more for him to join them inside. Dusty felt like he'd just concussed himself in a race somehow, looking at the smaller helicopter out of a queasy, unfocused gaze. He'd paralysed him somehow, hypnotizing him into believing he wanted this, and now he couldn't get back out of it. Without thinking of the consequences of their actions, he let the lightly painted rotorcraft lead him into the darkness, to his death sentence of a dance with two helicopters.  
Blue crystals watched as the young plane came into their space, the owner of those crystals moving out from the shadows to compliantly nuzzle the trainee. Blade wasn't as persistently horny as his partner came off to be, and he welcomed the crop duster with a softness and dignity that made him forget the choice he'd even made. While Nick hung back in the Agustawestland's peripheral vision, he slowly tilted the racers nose up to place his lips softly against his.  
Dusty forgot what planet he was on all over again, eyes rolling back until heavy lids fell over them as he pressed back into the older male. Words couldn't describe his gentleness, his barely-there touches that left the younger keening for deeper ones. Every stroke was feather-light, and it trailed across him like an aura as he felt down the side of his nose and across his cheek.  
When he had deemed the younger dazed enough, Nick appeared at his other side, body pressing into his flank warmly, causing him to shudder and press back. He reached around the aft of his wing, over his flaps and ailerons, and up to the back of his canopy, with kisses and nips with his teeth that made the other suppress a few squeaks. One got out though, and it was a glorious little sound to be heard.  
It wasn't long before the middle-aged male of the group started getting riled up. Blade could tell as much from the way his pupils started to shrink, almost snake-like slits as he started biting rather than nipping at the younger's tender frame.  
"A-ahh! H-hey!" Dusty recoiled as the other's teeth started sinking into the metal of his wing. Blade already knew if he went too fast, which he was about to, then he might scare the crop duster out of it again. So of course, he had to go in and neutralize the situation - by grabbing the helicopter by the tail and dragging him off of the plane.  
Nick growled back at him as he yanked him off of Dusty, turning back to glare at the helicopter through cat-like eyes - twisted and frightening, but hungry for more. He hated being reminded of how light he actually was, half of even Dusty’s weight, and barely a _ninth_ of his partner’s. Blade didn't back off of him though - actually, he seemed to _challenge_ the stunt chopper. Want to be a freak show? Two can play that game.  
Dusty looked back as the two were squaring off, as though they were in the midst of a tussle and were just sizing each other up before attacking. In a matter of speaking, that was what was happening - just that it had a slightly different outcome.  
Blade went for his skids - specifically, where the braces of them connected to his belly. He knew the other inside and out, and he knew how flighty he got when attacked from below. It only took a few nibbles at the edge before he practically jumped off and away from him, having apparently learned his lesson in not biting.  
But he wasn't finished with him yet. Seeming to forget about the crop duster temporarily, he kept advancing on Nick until he had him backed into a corner, until he couldn't get away from him any more. He kept up an onslaught over him of kisses and licks, and then the occasional, sudden and well-placed bites that made him flinch back and cry out. But he could take it - it was no more than what he'd already done to Dusty.  
When he decided that the Hughes had learned his lesson enough, leaving him shuddering in the corner, he turned his attention back to Dusty, looking over the little dents and scrapes his partner left on him. He kissed over the spots, almost apologetically, the crop duster shying from his touch at first but then relaxing again as he continued. As he fell under his hypnotic spell once more, he seemed to crouch down over his landing gear, breaths quickening as he worked himself up, until the inevitable click of his panels separating. Blade didn't ask if he was ready, didn't need to - he wasn't just going to plow in unannounced anyways.  
He could hear his husband from behind him, either unable to or not wanting to suppress his own sounds from watching his partner's cock slide out into view. He took it as flattery though, even though he wasn't the one he was fucking...well, not _yet_ , anyways.  
"M..B-Blade.." Dusty couldn't even register his surroundings right, could only shudder and pant as the older male pushed him down further, practically into the floor. He put his front landing gear, the only front one he had, across Dusty's right wing, pushing into the crook of it where he had the most distribution of weight. He rubbed his member up against the former crop duster's slit, lining himself up, getting him ready. Once he was sure he could take him, he thrust himself forwards and in, and the sound that came out of _his_ throat then was the most arousing of the bunch.  
Dusty was tighter than even Nick was, with less experience than him and less familiarity of the older's size and length. Nick would have almost been jealous that he got such a reaction out of his partner, if it wasn't for the fact that he was practically melting into a puddle just hearing him.  
Blade wasn't much of a vocal lover. Sure, the Hughes could, and had many times gotten some rich moans out of the Agustawestland, but they were hard to do, and even harder to do well. So hearing him practically on the verge of orgasm just from entering was a sound beyond description.  
"Oooh..Dusty!" He pushed further up into the former crop duster's body, both of them lost in lust as they joined together. Nick came around to face the crop duster, and before he could make another sound his mouth cupped over his and their tongues slid together.  
Though Nick had planned to take the lead over him, Dusty surprisingly still had enough mental capacity to explore him first, even as Blade started moving on top of him. He squeaked and cried into the others mouth, but it only made it that much more erotic as they tongued each other. The young racer delved over the others sharp teeth, suddenly understanding why such light bites elicited such sharp pain, and pressed up across the roof of his mouth, until he felt him keen out a groan in response, practically going limp against him.  
And then a rough buck from above sent Dusty spiralling off, forgetting about trying to lead and feeling claimed entirely by the red and white chopper on top of him. His lips seemed to slip off of Nick's on their own as he leaned up into the larger male, moving with his every thrust and only making it that much more intense. Wet streaks became cold in the air across his face, and he couldn't tell where they were coming from until he realized Nick was against his side, licking against his delicious plating and leaving salivated trails behind.

"Mmmm!"

As the two males remained conjoined, one thrusting hard into the other and only growing more intense the more he did, they _both_ could feel their peak approaching. Dusty leaned down as far as he could into the floor, tail up as Blade fucked him. Nick wasn't left out of the affair, though - he'd since migrated to Dusty's tail on the opposite side, again using his sharp, pointed teeth to dig holes into the sheet metal and get some more enthusiastic cries out of the youngest male. It seemed to be just what his partner needed to go all the way. With a grunt, Blade suddenly pushed down into the air tractor’s body one final time as he spent, feeling Dusty do the same as he cried out.  
Now, Blade didn’t like to just go and spend himself all at once; nearly three decades with his partner gave him more than enough time to establish preferences with him, and he had opted to do the same with Dusty. He was more of a pacer, more teasing and torturing, holding off until he had his mate practically begging him to go all the way. That’s what he had intended to do tonight, too. However, much like Dusty’s decision in joining the two for the night, he too was doing something different and “out of norm”, taking the young plane straight away and just letting him have it. And while he felt pretty worn out already, sliding off of the other and realizing just how much the both of them spilled, he could tell Nick was nowhere near done - and neither was Dusty, it seemed.  
The younger helicopter hopped around behind Dusty to give Blade a peck on the cheek, “Nice going there, babe.” He complimented, “M, why don’t you let _me_ take it from here then while you rest?” His eyes flickered with dark intentions, but the Agustawestland nodded his agreements, leaning back on his landing gear to see what the younger had planned.  
Dusty, for his own part, seemed like he was having a great time, lost in lust and feeling no real pain throughout - well, not any more than that which Nick had inflicted upon him, which was petty and small. But knowing that much about him, he seemed to cower in on himself slightly as the white and grey helicopter ambled back over. The fang-toothed grin he gave him warned him of the things to come.  
He didn't voice his demands, though with Blade he often would - he figured the kid would get it when he let his own dick hang out in front of him. He watched the racer turned firefighter as he openly viewed him, expression darkening into the same kind of Cheshire-cat grin. Oh, he knew.  
Blade only spectated from the side as he watched Dusty taking head and swallowing down metal, curious of his eager nature - until he realized his actual intentions.  
"Ah, a-aaah!" Nick jerked on top of him, seeming struck by a force as Dusty refused to let him go. He willingly put himself in this vulnerable position, and the crop duster was about to make him realize his mistake.  
Taking head didn't always mean being the follower of the game. Dusty had the helicopter right where he wanted him, and between every curl of his tongue along his shaft, he'd suck him down and make him scream.  
"D-Dus'...how..Uhhh.." The Hughes was at a loss for words, letting himself be taken over by who he'd mistaken for an amateur. But in fact, the air tractor knew exactly what he was doing.  
Well he did, until Blade got in the mix again and started teasing his underside, mouthing over his panels and letting his hot tongue slip over his still open, wet slit. Dusty shuddered and moaned, the sound vibrating across the Hughes cock. He didn't seem to have much endurance left after that.  
"Ooh! Sh-Shi--fff _uuuck…_!" He started riding on the crop duster's face until he came, crying out as he suddenly spent all over him. Dusty took him like a champ, until he slid off his mouth suddenly as the stunt chopper's skids turned to jell-o.  
Blade pulled off from under Dusty's tail as well, moving to rest his chin behind the orange and white plane's wing. Nick looked ready to topple over, having lost all feeling in his body. He leaned against the plane's other side, panting.  
"Well that...heh, that was a thing!" He said. He snuggled down into Dusty's side tiredly, "Ugh...I need a nap now…"  
"Can I just stay here for tonight?" Dusty asked.  
"Why not?" Blade stroked the younger plane's flank as they all started to cool down,  
"We're happy to have you."  
"And after my nap I'll show you I can do you better than _he_ can!" Nick glanced over at Blade with a sly grin - and got that same challenging growl back.  
"Or.." Dusty started, flaps flicking up as he considered, "I could try you out for _myself_. See who's the better lover..." His words were like dry logs on the open flames of the two helicopter's challenging, coaxing more out of the competition than they started with.  
"I like this kid!" Nick said, after a pause - and a very worrisome looking Agustawestland.  
"But it's already.."  
"Not _now!_ " the Hughes explained, "Later...after my nap maybe."  
"You sleep all of ten minutes!"  
"Good enough then!" He said.  
"Why do I have to deal with you…" Blade complained - and it felt to the two of them that he meant more than just Nick's shenanigans…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **"FBI, OPEN UP!!!"**
> 
> Gotta go!!!


	17. Lionized [Ripslinger] - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ripslinger drabble - yes, really.  
> Rated G

The sun casts down across the open runway, burning in the cloudless sky. Heat waves rise up from the lit concrete, causing the horizon to warp and wobble like the sea in a storm.  
He rolled out across the concrete smoothly and effortlessly, as though gliding across a pane of glass. The sunlight hit the vibrant livery of the plane, and it gleamed in the day more than any polished gemstone could.  
He was a Mustang, a P-51 to be exact. He seemed to exchange the heavy stock of his war-built ancestors for the sleek, streamlined figure of a racing plane. He was more than bold or sturdy, he was magnificent. Striking neon green in the front half met complete black across the canopy and tail, patterning angled checkermarks across the racer's middle. Bright orange flames seemed to dazzle across the raised tops of his exhausts, the same which also surrounded the name branded across his flanks.

But make no mistake; this plane was much more than just looks.

A sound began to materialize from the engine of the aircraft, a low gutteral rumbling as his systems started up. He flexed his ailerons and stabilizers, ensuring their maneuverability - and of course they responded at the lightest touch.  
His engines began to grow louder - the rumbling soon turned into roaring, prouder than a lion’s, across the landscape. He roared as if to say, “Look at me, look at how strong and capable I am. And look at what I am about to prove to you.”

Few seemed prepared for the spectacle they were about to witness. Fewer still could withstand the windstorm that trailed behind as the green plane streaked across the sky like a bolt of lightning, roaring like thunder. His talent spoke for itself, leaving a written tale of his fate in his smoke trails.  
It was no surprise then, to find him climb the ladder of success in the world of air racing so quickly, so effortlessly. But it was still just as amazing to watch. In the world of competitors and challengers, a king was born. For the length of an entire decade, he sat atop the pyramid of the greats, the king of all he surveyed.

But, like a king, so too is his throne overtaken.

\-----

Fame isn’t always easy to take.

Pride isn’t easy to swallow.

Self-expectation isn’t hard to cripple.

From the moment his tires touched back down onto the pavement, having - for the first time in ten years - come only to second best, something new began to seep into his frame. For years now, he’d known those pestering shadows around him; They seemed to mock his position, his success, but he always blocked them out. They were wrong to accuse him of what he’s done. It wasn’t until this new thing came to be, this sickly black pool of hatred and malice, that he finally stopped to listen to them. That he finally chose to accept what everyone else already knew.

He’d never look at his life the same way again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I do something with this? Will I _finally_ create my Ripslinger headcanon that has been long awaiting it’s debut?  
> Well probably not, but at least I made this cool drabble.


	18. The Truffle Tussle [Dusty/Ripslinger/Skipper] - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance for my later-than-expected absence, kinda went on another (more sporatic) hiatus with 'Emergency' just to get my writing back to where I want it to be, before it grows a mind of it's own again. In the meantime, I have a drabble for you all, as the bread crumbs to my eventual bread loaf thing of writing!
> 
> \-----
> 
> Short sweet shenanigan things. Skipper’s gettin’ mighty tired of being the babysitter.  
> Based in BobblyChicken’s headcanon...I guess? Reformed Ripslinger is here to be a pain.
> 
> Rated G

There was rarely a need for Skipper to intervene in any of the two air racer’s general shenanigans anymore. Be what they may, there were rarely still times where anything got too heated to warrant the war bird having to stop them. They didn’t fight anymore, aside from the occasional arguments, in which he’d now _assumed_ they were both man enough to handle like adults...for once. But then maybe that’s why he was so simultaneously surprised and disgruntled to hear the metal bangs of wing-slapping over Ripslinger’s curses and Dusty’s childish squawking. Oh pray tell, what have the overgrown proplings gotten themselves into _this_ time?  
Last he’d heard, the two had been chilling in Dusty’s hangar mid-day, hangar doors wide open and a television and game console set up on the opposite side of the room. It was an old console of the air tractor’s that he’d refused to part with, especially considering now he had new opponents to play with. He and Skipper had tried to play once before, but the old bird couldn’t figure out the long metal joystick’s clunky movements in comparison to the characters on the screen. Or maybe he was just slow.  
He’d left them while they were beginning a rather harmless racing game to go take a nap, or maybe birdwatch. They seemed perfectly fine when he’d departed - almost unusually so. Ripslinger in particular had become pretty settled in the last few days, enough even for the Corsair to notice. But he’d made the bold move to believe he _wasn’t_ acting out of some other reason then just because he was getting comfortable here. If he could keep up the rhythm then there was nothing to feel concerned about. Well, that’s what he hoped anyways.  
As he approached the hangar again, from within the shaded inside he could see the two in the midst of a not-quite-friendly, not-quite-violent tussle. Ripslinger was winning pretty easily thus far, having practically mounted the crop duster and keeping him down against the floor. Dusty didn’t seem to be fighting back though, more concerned with getting purchase on the slick concrete floor and scrabbling out from under him towards the table in the corner. He succeeded in his escape, and he almost made it there, before a pair of jaws sunk into his wing and he was drug back, and swung into the opposing wall. Ripslinger took the opportunity of him being dazed on the ground to go after what he was seemingly trying to get to before. By the time he was inches from the table (and Skipper inches from the doorway) Dusty had sprung back up to maul the checker-marked racer from behind. He probably wouldn’t have done so well, if not for Ripslinger having the same problems of getting good traction on the floor, and not knowing he was about to pounce; The two toppled back over onto the ground, Dusty not even taking the time to go around him as he scrambled over the other’s canopy. That proved to be a mistake, as the green and black plane reached up to grab his landing gear in his teeth, and Dusty - with a downright girlish squeal - went tumbling nose-first back to the floor in front of him.  
Skipper was beyond the point of asking them outright. He should have brought popcorn instead. He rolled in without a word to stand by the table the two seemed desperately clawing over each other to get to. It wasn’t until he was there that he realized what they were after, and with a lazy roll of his tongue, he stole the last little piece of the Ferrero Rochers right in front of them.

_Game over._

Ripslinger looked like he was about to get _actually_ violent; Dusty looked like he’d just watched his Bonded Companions getting violently murdered. Skipper just raised his eyebrows at both of them in amusement, before sauntering off again like nothing even happened. He didn’t even look back when he heard their fight continue behind him.  
He’d go pull Dusty’s beat-up hull back to his bed for the night when it was over.


	19. Sugar And Spice [Nick/Dusty] - E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW - Nick/Dusty (Yep. It's happening.)
> 
> I’m basically just irredeemable at this point. Enjoy this lil’ hottie drabble. These two work together better than alcohol and bad decisions!
> 
> **  
> _NSFW - you have been warned!!!_  
> **

Nick was a wild card. That much was obvious, in every aspect of his being. It made the younger air tractor a bit weary around him at times, yet there was this incredible alluringness to him - especially when his sly comments would get under his plating. They were short and soft, low enough that Blade wouldn’t overhear him when he said it, but they were sharp, and sparked something in Dusty’s mind that he’d never since considered. It was in the way that he was so on-point, yet so vague at the same time. Was he actually interested in him, or was he making a joke to play with his mind? He used to believe he was just making such risqué comments to piss off his partner, but soon it became apparent that maybe he _did_ mean what he said when he told him he wouldn’t mind exploring the underside of his tail.  
To be fair, he wouldn’t mind exploring _him_...  
But Nick never tried to make any further advancements. He would plant the thought in the other’s head, and then wander off like nothing had ever happened. And it was driving the little plane crazy. Eventually, he decided if he wanted to that much, then maybe _he_ would make the first move instead…

It was pretty late. The stars were out, and the crescent-shaped moon smiled down fiendishly as the crop duster turned racer made for the empty hangar on the base. Earlier, and out of earshot, he extended his invitation to the white and blue painted Hughes, just as cryptic as the other’s words: “Midnight, in the empty hangar. Blade doesn’t have to know.”  
He didn’t know if he’d have the balls to. But then again, maybe he did. He was about to find out either way, sneaking into the hangar without so much as a creak of the hangar doors - he’d made the note to ensure they were well-oiled and hard to detect _before_ making the offer.  
He felt strangely toxic now. He, yes _he_ made the first move, like he’d just offered to make a deal with Satan himself. He hoped he wasn’t going to regret it, especially knowing how quickly the stunt copter could flip on a dime from soft and caring to downright sadistic. Sources would seem to indicate that he was a pain player, if the various teeth marks forever embedded across Blade’s tail boom were anything to go by.  
He stood at the entrance to the building, knowing there was a light switch in here somewhere but forgetting where exactly, only having the tinted light of the moon to go off of.  
“I see you finally made it.” He heard from the darkness, and a wave of ice went through his plating. Nick made it here first, the edges of his form barely visible in the moon’s rays from the corner of the room. Dusty could just visualize the sly grin across his face.  
He had two options here: either take the coward’s way out, which he wanted to do now, realizing what he had just set himself up for in full, _or_ do something against his natural code - take a darker, more… _commanding_ , approach. He collected himself, taking a deep, steady breath as he tried to channel that inner darkness. When he turned to face his guest, his eyes were noticeably darkened against the slivers of light.  
“I see _you_ decided to play.” He answered the helicopter.  
Nick shrugged lazily, “What can I say, I can’t deny a looker that’s easy to fuck.”  
Dusty wanted to scoff in defense - ‘ _easy_ to fuck!? That narcissist!’ - but he held it in, instead using it as a means to get right up in the other’s face. Nick was taller, but not as menacing when the younger male was so close, so challenging.  
Dusty wanted to say something to him, opened his mouth to make a statement, but the older, more experienced aircraft stole his mouth before he could speak, earning him a cowardly squeak in reply and a point for himself on the In-Charge-o-meter. _Dammit!_  
The orange and white plane tried to fend him off in a battle of lips and tongues, but Nick kept finding spots that left the younger unwinding and deconstructing himself. He couldn’t let himself be bested at his own game! With mounting pressure to do something to get the upper hand again, he shifted to bite down on the helicopter’s bottom lip, tugging at it. He watched Nick’s eyes ignite with a fire in them, dark blazing embers inciting the end of just messing around with him. He let the younger drag him by the lip, tongue lavishing over the soft muscle until he finally let him go to explore elsewhere in his mouth - exploring tongue, roof, walls and even over the sharp, pointed canines. He expected the older to nip at him, but like a waiting crocodile he never once brought his jaws into the game.  
When the two finally parted, Dusty already looked broken in, panting to catch the air stolen away from him in the heated space. Nick wasn't done with him, though; he started to move in again around the air tractor, licking and kissing down the side of his tender framework. There were no teeth involved though, as much as Dusty was tensed and ready for it. He would jump and shy away every time he thought he was about to get bit, only to hear Nick's light chuckle as he teased and threatened him. The sly fuck.  
He smoothly made his way around the younger's wing, and without prior consent, he slipped under the airplane's flank, pushing up against him. He could feel the tension triple in the crop duster's body, could feel how he hiked himself up in his landing gear to feel as though he could pull himself away if he wanted to.  
But Nick wanted him to fall apart. He wanted him to just melt overtop of the Hughes as he licked him up and enjoyed his midnight treat. He'd been long since awaiting the moment he would get to taste the young flyer, to completely own him for a night. So as the air racer stood above him, holding his breath, he cupped his lips to plant a seductive kiss against the plane's panels.  
"Nnnn!" Dusty didn't know if he had tried to call Nick's name then, or if he'd tried to protest, but the moan that escaped him then was long and desperate sounding. More hums and groans came up from the racer's throat as he felt the helicopter beginning to kiss and gently suck at his panels, as he fought to keep them tightly shut. Something about the way he purposefully drifted off of him, just to suddenly smother him in the pressure of his mouth again was really getting him worked up. Finally, letting go of his initial fear, he relented, the crease between his parallel panels widening as they slid back. Behind his protective casing was the glittering treasure trove the older male seemed to be after, a slathering wet slit wherein a second prize was concealed. He moaned again as he pressed down over Nick's face, feeling his dexterous tongue plunge deeper into the rubbery crevice. And then-  
"Aa _aaahh!~_ " there it was. There were the canines he was weary of. The bite was light, just barely enough to be painful, but the sharpness of his pointed fangs against Dusty's sensitive underside made the touch incredibly hypersensitive. He couldn't pull away without worsening the pain. It was all he could do to push down over the Hughe's face and hope he would soon let him go.  
"Mmmh~" Nick pushed up against Dusty's underside, only removing his teeth to slide his tongue back up into the racer's body. As soon as he felt Dusty try to move away from him, however, the rubbery outside of his reproductive equipment got another helping of his painfully sharp incisors.  
"Ah-hhahhh! N.. _Nnnick_!" he cried out.  
"Mm- _Mm_.." He made the orange and white plane lower himself once more, forcing him to give in to the mix of pain and pleasure. He could feel the desperation in his weakly compliant moans as he submitted to him. He knew how to get the young male to cave - and it wasn't hard.  
Dusty lay rather helplessly over the Hughes as he took his time enjoying him, knowing he couldn't escape without being trapped by his teeth once again. He had to wait until he was sure he was done, pulling away from his quivering panels to inflict his damage somewhere else. His tongue dragged out of his wet, slathered insides to leave a salivated trail from it all the way up to the big _7_ on his left flank. When he finally peeled off of the younger male's plating, he let out a steamy breath against the side of his canopy - oh, he was enjoying every second of this little beauty.  
"Still think you can take me?" He asked him seductively, challenging the younger adrenaline junkie. He timed a single sharp nip to his aileron with the moment the airplane opened his mouth again to respond, eliciting another submissive moan.

_"I didn't think so."_

Dusty was starting to feel fed up. He wasn't even going to give the air tractor a chance. He would have to fight his way out of the Hughes' games to show him up. But now he would _literally_ have to wrestle out from under him as Nick started pushing him into the concrete.  
"mmphh...Nick, I'm not your- ha! -Uhhh.." The little plane was having a hard time concentrating on stopping the helicopter, barely realizing he was already started until the head of his cock started pushing into his folds. By the time he was trying to wriggle away, he already had him where he wanted him, and he was halfway sheathed inside the younger aircraft.  
"Oooh.." Dusty wanted to pull away and try exacting some revenge, but it was so hard to, especially when he stretched him so good, more gently than he'd felt in a while. He wouldn't have taken Nick for such a soft lover, but once he had mounted him, the roughness and teasing seemed to completely fade away.  
"M-Mm…" trying to fight his overloading senses, Dusty stretched a tire tread out in front of him, trying to pull out from under Nick, to scoot away and recollect his thoughts that were fast escaping him.  
"Shh…" the Hughes purred - yes, quite literally _purred_ above him - as he squeezed his skids into the air tractor's body, pulling himself in further. "Soon…"  
Soon? What did he mean 'soon'? Dusty was about to ask, before a magnificently well-timed and positioned thrust blew the question away from his mind. He and the older moaned in tandem to the wet smack of their reproductive parts being shoved tightly together into one space, throbbing and begging for more stimulation. Nick settled down over Dusty's back, starting into a smooth, fluid pace of invading the orange and white plane's insides, moving steadily as his rod pushed into the other's tender walls.  
"M...ooh… _Oooh_ if Blade finds out…" he hears him start to moan, and Dusty knows he's only being half-serious. The other half of that serious statement sends a cold, errotic chill down his frame. It only gets colder as he adds, "You would be in _so_ much trouble…"  
"H...haa...and you..wouldn't?" Dusty asked him, as he started to move with him to meet his thrusts.  
"Mm...no, he knows me too well. But _you_ \--" and he thrusts up hard into him, making his point, "you're the one who started it. Bet you'll finish it too…"  
"Wh-..what do you mean by tha- haaahh~!" Dusty's eyes rolled back as he felt Nick plunge hard into him, sending him over the edge. He tensed up tight under the heli, and the white and blue aircraft knew. He slammed hard into the younger's slit, waiting for him to hit his peak. Dusty finally did, with a shout of pleasure, shuddering as he felt his orgasm rush through him. He could barely register Nick's surprised gasp from how hard he climaxed.  
He figured that would be the end of it. He felt his landing gear go to putty as the Hughes slid rather languidly out and off of him. But he didn't seem to be finished. Even as Dusty lay on the floor, spent and tired, Nick was nipping at his wingtips and trying to drag him back up.  
"C'mooon...now that you're good and tired, I'll let you have me…" he offered seductively. Dusty narrowed his eyes up at the helicopter. Really? He was spent for the night, but _now_ Nick let's him top? How was he supposed to have any energy left!?  
"Promise you'll like it…" He adds. Dusty seems curious, but hesitant. He eyed the white and blue chopper's taller, yet sleeker form. It would be pretty hard to mount him, from the way they were each built. Unless he could get him on his… 

"How do you wanna?" He asks him.  
Nick smirks over at him, before his rotors moved to fold and click back into a straight line. Before Dusty knew what was happening, all he heard from Nick was,  
"Catch me." 

The floors were hard concrete. It posed a challenge for any side-layers should they ever try to push the boundaries of their bodily limitations. Though, if you had someone big enough to catch your fall and slowly let you down, well...they could have at it.  
Nick was _tiny_ \- in the sense that he was by far the lightest aircraft...pretty much ever. Even Dusty, small and stunted as he was, was more than double Nick's measly 1,200 lbs. .  
Thankfully, this came in handy for using a wing to hold up a helicopter when they decide to fall onto _you_ rather than the hard floor. Though Dusty could manage the transitions, it didn't stop the heat rising in his face from the opportunity which unfurled before him.  
He had Nick, by himself, on the floor in the dark, in a hanger on base, in the middle of the night. And he _wanted_ him.  
"Don't try impressing me," he told him, "just use whatever you got, and pound the shit outta me…" his smile seemed to glow up at him in the dim light.  
Dusty circled around his tail to look up his sensitive belly. He didn't think this kind of opportunity would just be given to him. But as he moved back up across him, the realization sunk in that he had nothing stopping him from taking him in full, really showing him...  
As he turned to face the helicopter again, his face darkened into a much more serious tone. "C'mon.." He pressed, "show me you can fuck without thinking…"  
Dusty didn't feel like he understood the origin of the feral rumble that came out of him. He didn't think he knew the dark side that came out of him, eyes gazing over the little helicopter on his side, planning a devious attack. Nick didn't seem to be prepared for the way he approached him finally.  
Dusty's tongue started at the base of Nick's tail, slowly dragging up his body, and over his panels lightly, almost hesitantly. He vacated the spot though, much to Nick's disappointment, and instead went over to his skids, where he switched to nibbling at his landing equipment. He could hear Nick's heated pants, but nothing stronger. He suddenly wanted to know just how much of a vocal range he really had - he'd overheard some pretty hearty squeals of his from Blade's hangar a few times.  
"Well?" He heard Nick purr. Dusty finally halted his session of exploring the older male's body to mount him, and he pressed his exposed entrance to Nick's primaries. The combined sets of firm but pliable rubbery material felt erotically good, and Dusty started to slowly rub himself over the other, emitting a low hum as the soft tissues were smushed together.  
Nick seemed a bit oddly stunned, as he froze up under him, shivering from the sensations. Dusty couldn't see it, but he was biting hard on his lip, feeling nearly cross-eyed to the wonderful new feeling against him.  
All too soon, the crop duster's dick began to slip out from its sheath and into the other's, bit by bit. He could hear Nick's excited yet almost nervous chirps as he slid deeper into his confines. His entrance began to stretch wider to accommodate his girth, becoming tenser as he plunged further. Before long, Dusty was fully re-sheathed in the Hughes' body, letting out a steamy sigh once he was there.  
"Oooh...Mm..I can see why you and Blade enjoy each other so much…" Dusty started to pull back out of the white and blue chopper, before thrusting back into him in lustful passion. His eyes rolled back as he delved into the helicopter's slit, feeling so tiredly good, buzzed and high off of Nick's body. He moved slowly and somewhat sloppily on top of him, just wanting to be in him because of how soft and tender and _good_ he felt. He didn't care about impressing him anymore, he just wanted him here, he wanted _more_.  
Nick was beginning to lose himself as well, as long, low moans sang up from his throat. He moved to meet the air tractor's wet thrusts, feeling himself being deconstructed from the other's lovingly careless plunging. Their underbellies We're both bound to be a hot, slippery mess after this.  
They started to pick up the pace, the orange and white plane becoming restless and desperate to get another release. He slammed himself into Nick, and his weight was actually beginning to move him as he fucked him into the floor. Nick was starting to feel the pressure, like he was in a hydraulic press, hard stone on one side of his body and a crushing force of 2,500 pounds of plane on the other. And it felt so good.  
" _Mmmm!_ ooh, _oooh_ yeah, Dusty! Mm my...little stolen canary!" He moaned. The added pet name stimulated Dusty to plunge harder, faster and more desperately into his body, both of them _so_ close to the edge…  
The timing couldn't have been more perfect. Almost the exact moment that Dusty felt Nick suddenly release, so too did he hear the _click!_ of the door lock, and his body went as cold as ice. He yanked himself off the older male's body, even as he quaked with an orgasm, trying to hide himself from the intruder.  
"UUUhhh…" Nick's tongue lolled out as he panted for breath, eyes looking up at the blurry silhouette in front of him. It wasn't Dusty.  
"Mm...hey baby…" he said. He seemed oblivious to the crop duster shuddering and shaking, hiding behind him.  
As his vision cleared up, he watched Blade's eyebrows furrow in disgust as he looked down at them. Nick didn't even try to act like he wasn't just having sex with the air boss's trainee, though Dusty was for sure looking like he was about to be brutally murdered. The red and white helicopter opened his mouth to speak, but seemed at an absolute loss for words. His partner just gazed up at him like he was drunk off his aft.  
"Heeee started it!" He told him.  
The larger helicopter shut his eyes to release a gravelly sigh, turning to leave again - but not before adding,  
"4:00 AM out front, _both of you_." 

Needless to say, by the time 4 o'clock rolled around, Nick and Dusty were equally spent, exhausted and fatigued. Nick _especially_ looked like he didn't even get the two to three hours of sleep.  
"What happened to you?"  
"Had to...make it up to Blade….oooh, _bad_ decision…everything hurts..." he said, wincing like he'd twisted something in his systems. Dusty sighed - at least he didn't have _that_ to do to make up for last night.  
Though, despite their later punishments of overtime work on the base, Nick, and yes even Dusty, couldn't say they regretted that night. It was worth the day of cleaning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse me while I begin stocking up on special discount brain bleach for myself and my victims- I mean... _viewers_.  
> Yeah.


	20. Seven of Swords [Blade/Dusty] - T/M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To anyone wondering if I write about them...I do.  
> Dark drabble for the sake of self-expression. Not really a vent but...kind of? No, not really. More of a revelation.
> 
> Rated M

Dusty’s eyes went up to the skies without thinking about it, taking in the smokey grey of thick clouds covering the sunset. They were headed for another round of storms, and an arguably worse fire season than last year. It wasn’t even May yet.  
Half of the Piston Peak Air Attack could barely even be cleared to fly right now. The problems surrounding too much work and not enough fighters was taking its toll on all of them. They were exhausted, strained, engines overheated and ready to snap. Some of them were already trying to.  
CAL fire would have to be on it’s way if they couldn’t keep these spotfires down, but they were up to their eyes already with their own battles. They could try to round up volunteers, but even they needed a run-down of what to do and how to do it so they didn’t end up lost to the flames.  
And they already lost one this year.

The dark rumble of an engine behind him made Dusty finally look away from the wall of smoke. Blade had come up to stand beside him at the cliffs, worse for wear than he’d ever seen him - and that was saying something.  
“It’s still acting up?” He asked.  
“Gonna just have to grit through it and hope it holds.” He rasps. Every other minute, someone was breaking something, and even with Paul back in to assist Maru, both of them were at their wit’s end. And the budget’s.  
“This is ridiculous..” Dusty says suddenly, shaking his front in denial of this whole ordeal, “If we can’t get a hold of this shit we’re gonna go through another one of the Greats, and this time we’ll _all_ be going down.”  
Blade’s only acknowledgement of the younger’s statement was a sigh so grated it might have actually been an engine part spooling down. Dusty didn’t want to push the complaint any further - he could only imagine the kinds of hell it was to go through all this as the boss, to be the one asking this much out of your team, knowing they all could die. And then that loss would sit on his helm for the rest of his life.  
He already knew he was grieving over the trainee. They all were, really. She was too young and too unprepared for the sudden storms raging over the park. The timing was really awful, as the first wave of hell rushed in only in their first couple of weeks. And, like Dusty, they’d never been in this line of work before. This was a lot to put on the wings of one so new to aerial firefighting.  
And then the _smoke_. If it didn’t blind you to fly through and sting your eyes to hell and back, the gunk going though your engine filters would take you next. And then there was the mud that would cake to their fuselages, the grit leaving them all irritable and uncomfortable. Even the little things like that all played factors into their performance, and they could only alleviate those things so much. They needed the water for retardant now more than they needed it to stay clean and healthy.  
Dusty assumed it was those little things that kept the newbie so distracted that day. Or maybe the stress of it all. Or both. Regardless, the haze of smoke that rushed up on them took its toll hardest with her. She clipped the ledges of a canyon without noticing how close she was, and overcorrected herself - tearing into Pine trees on the way.  
Maru could only do so much.  
Eventually, nothing more could be done. She died at the age of twenty-five.

The sting of their loss was still new in all their cores, still sitting on the edges of denial. It seemed as though the world itself was turning against them, the weight of their reality growing heavier still. It was like being stuck under a hydraulic press, being slowly but surely crushed under the mounting pressure.  
And the mental slap in the face affected them all too - it was harder still to knock out a fire or leave a line when all that could surround your subconscious was the survivor’s guilt. It hit Dusty hard in a physical way as much as a mental one - it was his first real team loss, and he couldn’t stand it. He’d vacate the mess hall on his one split-second chance to eat something, and Blade’s strong hearing would catch a few of those shouted curses at the world through every other gush of wind. He didn’t want to know what his hangar looked like right now - he was certain it was a shattered, rage-induced mess. To varying degrees, all of their bunkers were really.

So now here they sat at the edge of the cliffs, where the bottom rolled off into sharp rocks and jutting trees. Both of them had the same thoughts here. Both of them never did it. And both of them seemed to understand this.  
“What are we supposed to do now…” The young male sighed, sinking on his pontoons. He looked ready to give up. The cliffs were still calling, even now.  
Blade looked up to face him. It was Dusty’s first big hit, and his...well, he didn’t dare count them anymore. But they were the same pain every time. It was the same downhill tumble, and it was the same desperate grasping at the air for something to hold onto, something to break their fall. It was the same loss both ways.  
“Keep going.” He told him, without missing a beat, without a trace of spite or denial in his tone. He didn’t tell him this to give him a false sense of hope, that one day things will change, sometime soon their saving grace will come upon them. This was the complete, and honest, truth.  
“Keep going even if it kills you,” He continued. “We owe it to them to keep trying. I would rather go down fighting for something good than giving up on the people we’ve lost...and to the ones we haven’t lost yet.”  
Dusty glanced back to the base as he said this - remembering how long he had been here, how much he had been through with these guys, his team, his _family_. This was his home now as much as Propwash Junction was, and he owed it to them to keep moving, keep trying desperately to hang on, to move on, to give it more than everything he had. He’d put himself on the line for them all, no conditions. This wasn’t a deal, this wasn’t an eye for an eye. This was selfless love. Sacrificial life. If it took his life to save his family,

_So be it._


	21. The Newly-Weds Game [Blade/Nick] - T/M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: After digging through Pinterest posts I found some sweet OTP fluffy story prompts and I was like “heyyyy!”  
>  Takes place in my “Early Spring” alternate universe, but before Early Spring even begins. Just to recap that AU, Nick survives his crash by some miracle and now he and Blade are a happy married couple...trying to live together for the first time.  
>  Hilarity and adorableness and probably something dirtier are about to ensue.
> 
> Rated M for a lot of referencing and innuendo - but not explicitly.

The two helicopters were already used to being around each other and sharing one another’s crap; that much they went into with easy strides when they moved in together. But there was one thing that they realized, as they began to settle into their new home, was going to be a very serious problem.

They had _extremely_ different ideas of a living space.

Blade was always one for perfectionism. He was borderline _obsessive_ some days about ensuring order and organization within his hangar. Even though he’d learned to get used to Nick’s ‘habits’, he always had reason to get his various belongings back out of the hangar before, or otherwise find them a more fitting home than the floor. Nick, by comparison, didn’t ‘get’ the concept of heavy organization. It wasted time and energy, and whenever even a single thing went out of place, it would take a day’s worth of fretting to just rearrange the shelf. He didn’t want to bother; besides, his system of organised chaos worked well enough.  
But now, that they were actually, _officially_ living under the same roof, and with the _same_ hybridized last name (Ranger-Lopez), and thus had no excuses not to ‘put up’ with each other’s systems.  
“Okay, so you’re a _freak_ about color combinations and shelf alignment, but you’re completely fine with asymmetry???” Nick baffled.  
“When it’s tasteful, yes.” Blade answered, between screwing in one half of the shelf to the wall. Nick held the loose end up while he finished, waiting impatiently for him to set the level down on top of it (determining the shelf’s 100% evenness against the wall before the second screw went in...for the third time).  
“Up a little..” He told him. “...no not that much, down a bit.”  
“It’s _one_ shelf,” Nick said, with a roll of his eyes, “if you take ten fucking hours for one thing, we’re not gonna be settled until next _year_. If it looks straight then it’s straight!”  
“You look straight, yet you’re not.” Blade teased.  
“Oh-ho-ho, I know I ain’t babe, but at least I didn’t take _30 years_ to figure that out!”  
“Jus’ move already--” Blade cut off, pushing the smaller helicopter out of his way and getting a screwdriver in on the other side, finally satisfied with the shelf’s position, “Let me just screw this into the wall.”  
“I’d rather screw _you_ into the wall…” his partner murmured without missing a beat. Blade didn’t say anything in return, but he could see the reddish pink color seeping in around the beige paint of his cheeks.  
“Remember what you said about not wanting to take ten years to settle?”  
“Nope!”  
“You dirty fuck..”  
“Mm, you know you love me.” Nick said coyly.  
“Do I love you? Yes. Do I love _dealing with_ you? Depends on the day.” Blade said, turning to drop the screwdriver back into the tool bag, satisfied with the shelf now, “Since I don’t need your help anymore, maybe you should go do something useful.”  
“Like making the bed?”  
“Like taking out the trash.” Blade corrected. He didn’t have to look up to see the puppy dog pout that would appear on his partner’s face.  
“Welp, sooner we do this, sooner I get to have you!” He purred, rubbing against the older male before turning to leave him, as though there was no say in the matter. Blade rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but smile a little too.  
Nick always knew to stop if it ever went too far, but he _also_ knew Blade, and he knew that deep down he enjoyed the teasing. He could always tell by that grin he’d fight to keep hidden, or the heat that would come up in his cheeks. Sometimes he could even get a rise out of him, though not today it seemed. He was focused on having a place clean enough to call home for the night. Nick was fine with what they’d gotten done so far, but if it made his husband happy, then housekeeping he’d do.

By the time the sky was turning orange and pink, the majority of furnishing in the main rooms were taken care of, with some extra time to make a list of needed things for later - it was inevitable that they would have forgotten to get something or other. They hadn’t gotten everything, but they had gotten the essentials, and most of the big stuff was already out of the way. It was livable now.  
As Blade finished clearing off the dirt and leaves from the back porch, he felt Nick slide up against him. He prepared himself for a comment, eyes at the ready to roll, but the words never came. Nick settled down, purring happily against Blade’s side, as the two shared their first sunset from their new home together.  
“...were you about to ask?” Blade questioned, breaking the eventual silence.  
“Mm-mm.” Nick answered, shaking his front and then pushing back into Blade’s side with a happy trill of his engine. Blade couldn’t help but smile back at him. Dammit, he couldn’t hold back the fact he loved him so fucking much. And did he love dealing with him? Well it would depend on the day; some days, he could deal with Nick, and other days, Nick could deal with _him_. But they held each other up around that regardless, and they bounced off of each other's energies.  
And that’s what made them such a perfect team in the end.


	22. Carpe Diem [Dusty/Oscar] - G

Dusty hunkered down lower to the floor as smoke and soot filled the tight space. Dirt and debris splattered against his and the fire chief’s sides, as glowing embers flecked off of the now sealed entrance to the cave system. With every blown out speck of golden light, the room grew darker and scarier still.  
“Blade?” the air tractor coughed, as smoke started to settle and disperse in the cavern. “ _Blade_?”

No answer.

Shakily willing himself to stand, Dusty inched his way into the darkness to where he last saw his fire and rescue mentor. He caught himself just before his nose collided with the red paint in his side.

“..Blade?”

He was out cold. Even as the young racer started to nudge and push at his side, the older male didn’t budge, and the heat in his body was fast dissipating.

“No..no, Blade _stay with me!_ ” The younger said, shoving himself into the air boss’s side to try and move him.

But the lights were gone. Darkness encapsulated them, the smoke feeling thicker and heavier against Dusty’s shaky breath than ever before. Walls were closing in, he could feel himself being buried alive in this pocket of rock - without Blade, without anyone here. The famous air racer, the poster child of the sport, who tried to be a hero, but couldn’t even save himself, or the people he loved and cared about, he who would just die alone and never be found again.

His throat seized; the smoke was too heavy. He was out of air. Out of breath.

Out of time.

\-----

The young plane was woken out of his nightmare when his body realized it was _actually_ being deprived of oxygen. He coughed and hacked his way back to relative consciousness, looking around dazed at the dark hangar, until his eyes fell upon the larger body beside him.

Before he could ask, Oscar moved forward to rest his nose in the crook of Dusty’s wing, worry lining his features in the dim moonlight.

“I...had another one, didn’t I?” Dusty asked him groggily. The nightmare was already fading away, save for the smoky burn in his intake.

“Mhm.” The pine needle-green P-36 leaned up to plant a kiss on his lover’s cheek, more to calm his own nerves than Dusty’s. The air tractor couldn’t begin to express his apologies for waking the older male from his own sleep, and for giving him such a scare.

It seemed his apology was prevalent in his affections, nosing and rubbing along the front of Oscar’s engine, trying to make up for all the feelings of fear.

“I’m okay now.” He said.

“I know,” Oscar told him, as he purred back into the little plane’s embrace, “I just...hm..I wish there was something more I could do to help.”

“You already do so much…” Dusty told him, leaning into the side of the Curtiss Hawk’s fuselage to let their eyes bleed into one another. He was already worlds beyond grateful that Oscar was even here to stay with him, on these long winter nights he once spent with Skipper, tucked under his mentor’s wing while the storms of the north raged outside. The thought of staying those nights alone now made him burrow deeper into Oscar’s wing, content to ensure he wouldn’t leave his side.

“You can sleep now, I’m fine.” Dusty said, though his voice was mildly muffled by the Curtiss P-36’s wing, and the mat they lay together in.

“Not until you’re back in sleep-land first.”

“Hm, never been there, what’s it like?” Dusty joked. In truth, it had been a long time since he had had a peaceful night.

“It’s like a warm hug that doesn’t end until the sun is up, and then you don’t want it to.” Oscar explained to him, shifting to settle down deeper in the dark mattress, “You just want to laze in bed until the sun hits your canopy and it’s time to get up and _carpe diem_.”

“M, remind me, I forget what that means.” Dusty said, as his eyes slipped close.

“It means ‘seize the day’. Like you do every day.”

“So can we carpe… _noctem_ , and seize the night?”

“Only if you go back to sleep you can.”

“Mkay..” the air tractor finally relented, breathing a deep sigh as he curled up back in the warmth of tranquility, and indeed seized the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6AM drabble. Why am I awake at 6AM? Nightshifts. Nightshifts exist, and I have a schedule to keep. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ll be going to sleep until the mid afternoon.  
> I’ll explain Oscar more later, but he’s a forest green Curtiss P-36 Hawk, and that whom Dusty comes to spend the rest of his life with (after a series of events we’ll cover...eventually).


	23. Props to My Proppies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it everyone.  
> The end of 2020.  
> The end of the first of our series of 'Props to the Proppies'.  
> But _not_ the end of it all...

Salutations, my fellow Proppies! It is I, your new queen of the Archive _Planes_ fanfiction! _Bow before my mighty throne, peasant!_

No but seriously, this is Pen, and I have a few things I would like to say in regards to this series and my writing within this year, along with the Planes AO3 community as a whole. I’m writing this to post as my “final farewell” to this first year of fanfiction from me, and to welcome the next year with even more potential (and you know...maybe I’ll finish Emergency. We’ll just have to see. :P ) And NO, I’m NOT leaving! I’m just making a series rewind, before I start posting new things in 2021. I have big plans for next year!

For starters, I kinda wanted to introduce the parts of me that y’all who remain on AO3 don’t really know. While I am a fanfiction writer now, it’s merely my secondary hobby to my real passion, my heart and soul, which is _art_. Since I could hold a crayon, I have loved drawing, and for at least the last decade now, I’ve been working hard to hone my craft. I’ve been especially ambitious to work at it and become a professional-level freelance artist (of what branch, I’m honestly not sure yet). Right now I’m a bit of a “jack of all trades” if you will, flipping between cartoony doodles and realistically shaded masterpieces on a whim, and playing around in the surrealism spectrum in between. I do as I please, or as the muse deems pleasurable.

(All my artwork is featured on my other online accounts, links of which are all in my AO3 profile page! I primarily focus on my Deviant Art channel, but I’m also planning to pay special attention to my _Youtube channel_ [PenName-Artist] this coming year! Stay tuned everywhere to see what’s in store!)

My art, much like my writing, has been my biggest personal focus and way to express myself, but more recently, it’s also become my escape, and my way to cope with things that have changed - or have _been_ changing - in my life. Even in my _Planes_ artwork and fandom things, there’s always little slivers hiding in every line, a hidden message of the current situations. I can’t really say the specifics for a vast multitude of reasons (including personal pain) but art and writing both are much more than just a pastime of mine, they are a part of who I am and a part of my life I can’t ever get rid of. -So, knowing that, y’all ain’t gonna see any less of my stuff, even if it becomes more infrequently posted.

2020 also, well...2020 has thrown me for more loops than people may realize. Not only was there the massive upset that was CoVid-19 and lockdown that hit all of us at once, but I had a lot of… _personal_ situations that blindsided me, and have left some _obscenely_ hefty scars in their wake. Since the beginning of the year, I have _really_ been struggling with mental health concerns and post-traumatic stress disorder (or at the very least, symptoms that closely relate to having PTSD). I’ve noticed a lot of things have been slowing down while that’s been in effect, mostly in said frequency of posting. (And I do apologize for that, because I do have ideas and stories, and I just have had no motivation to even open the documents and work on them.)

But even as I’ve been fighting my own battle, and just kinda using places like here to be a platform to express myself and, you know, write about airplanes and helis, I have to say, I have met some _extraordinary_ people here. Whether I’ve read works and commented or I’ve had full conversations with folks who’ve enjoyed my own works, I’ve come to appreciate every creative person on here for the types of things they’ve been able to put out. I think we all collectively lit a fire under the fandom and got back into posting (whether that was quarantine’s fault or not is up for you to decide), so it’s been incredible getting to see new people post their own stories for the very first time, still unsure of their writing but brave enough to try it. It’s also cool to see the ‘vets’ of the Planes fandom still around. Some don’t seem active anymore, but I hope they’re still out there, watching their stories becoming the main inspiration for all these new things. :P

(And, side note, DAMN there’s a lot of bilinguals here!!! Y’all are _cool!_ )

Overall, this year’s had its ups and downs, good and bad, but I think that we can all agree 2020...can go _die in a fire_. That’d be fine with all of us. I want my _refund_ dammit! XD

No but seriously, at least we made it work. I’m just surprised that, though I hadn’t expected it, _I_ got such a notice from the little crazy ideas I’ve made, like...I honestly did _not_ think people would care, and yet, here we are. Here I am. I am still alive (it’s a miracle) and we’re about to step into 2021. I seriously couldn’t have gotten this far in my own art, writing, in my own personal growth even, without y’all. I know that sounds cheesy as hell but it is fucking true. I have learned so much this year and - hopefully - taken that knowledge and used it for my own self-betterment, and by extension, the betterment of my creative works, which are as much a part of me as anything else.

But anyways, before I ramble about myself any more (because Lord knows I’m enough of an egomaniac…) I had something else I wanted to do in this lil’ end journal!

As my [albeit late] Christmas gift to you guys, I am writing up a **master list of my 2020 fanfiction works** , with special noteworthy facts! This’ll include both one-shots and every story in the PttP pile here! I just wanted to share a bit of insight on my crazy little world.

Enjoy!

\-----

**Emergency** \- Not much to say that I haven’t said in individual chapter notes, but I do want to mention that chapter 23 is on the way to completion, and so is the alleged ‘end’ of the series. I’ve also got a spoof reel of “every chapter of Emergency in 10 words or less” that I have made...who knows if that will ever be posted, but hey, it does exist! Let me know if you guys want to see that, I may throw it into my series end-notes.

**Shelter** \- It’s a little scary how similar my illness was to Nick’s after I posted that fic. I was only just starting to get sniffly when I wrote it, and then right after it went up, it’s like everything I wrote happening _actually_ went and fucking happened. (And I have a loose drawing connected to this piece, too!)

(No, I wasn’t sick with CoVid. Well, I _think_ I wasn’t. It was way back in February. It didn’t spread in my house, it was just me sick for a bit, and I didn’t die. So.)

**The Checkers Match of Death** \- Created by randomly rolling the dice to see what characters would go up against what other characters, and by coincidence, I got the two helis of the PPAA. There _was_ a whole series originally that this was going to be a part of, where I randomized situations and forced random characters into odd scenarios, _but_ , that ship has since sailed. I may still make fics based off of those old concepts though. We shall see what happens.

**Early Spring** \- I _honestly_ don’t remember what incited this story to happen. I really don't! I’m gonna go ahead and blame some fics from Tumblr about similar ideas, but honestly I’ve got no excuse for this idea. It’s still confirmed headcanon though, so...I dunno, deal with it I guess?  
I’ve also talked with friends about continuing this AU, and watching Ayden and Cynthia grow up, what their family dynamics are as they age and mature, etc. It’s a vague plan for the future!

**Flint and Steel** \- My first collab piece!!! Thanks to the wonderful **StormblazeP-51** , my buddy-‘bond from across the pond! (is it still ‘across the pond’ if it’s further into Europe??) Kinda funny looking back at this to realize neither one of us knew _anything_ of the other’s character or how they were, so I seem to have unknowingly unleashed an alternate ‘dark form’ of Steel into the world…and I’m not really sorry about that, either. XD

**Hell of A Day** \- Update: This series is newly finished! I hope, anyways. This was really a very random “oh let’s explore this idea!” story, and somehow it escalated into a three-part series of sadistically torturing Blade. Not that I’m sorry about _that_ , either. (You see, you see why I’m going to hell? You see why I’m such a terrible person? XD)

**If You Love Something...** \- Ever make one of those fics that feels so random but then comes out _SO_ perfect, completely by accident!? That’s this thing. I have no clue how it even came to me, but I love it to pieces for being what it is. This was the point I was most satisfied with my writing style. Actually, I’m still more satisfied with the style of this piece than most of my other fics right now. I love this, I love how good this came out.

**Three’s A Crowd** \- I do believe this came from a conversation about writing Blade and Skipper interactions with my good buddy **Bobblychicken** , but somewhere down the line there was this fashioned idea that they had to interact purely because they were there during Dusty’s birthday and had no real ‘choice’. The story was fun to make, but I remade the opening a bunch of times and it was very stubborn in a lot of places that might seem obvious now. At least the drunken Dusty bit is worth it all!

**Partners In Crime** \- Second collab with **Stormblaze-P51**! Did we finish this? We haven’t finished this. _this exists, by the way_. This is a Cars original, but it’s basically just me and Storm playing in the sandbox of Partners in Crime, but with a bigger story. No idea where this is going atm, but hey, it’s here! I’m not entirely sure whether this will constitute as an AU or a main headcanon, but I do suppose we will keep you guys posted!

**[Pttp] Day of the Dead** \- My first short story, and let me tell you I enjoyed it. This _was_ back before I was manic and anxiety-ridden, however, and at the time I was trying to go for more G-rated fluffy stuff. You can see I didn’t exactly keep to that clean, child-friendliness after these. XD

**[Pttp] The Worst Thing** \- I think there was supposed to be more content in this story, and then it went and strayed from that a little. Not my best, not my worst. It’s a so-so.  
...Okay actually, I kinda hate it.

**[Pttp] Game of Thrones** \- I literally have not mentioned Cassidy after this piece, and that is very sad. I am sad. I need to finish Emergency so I can write Familia finally. Anyways the story is good, but old. Best viewed if you add the background noise of actors reading the best of Cards Against Humanity.

**[Pttp] The Great American Race** \- Written while watching NASCAR. Go figure! And don’t tell me the humor at the end of this wasn’t spot-on! That’s the peak of my comedy right there. XD

**[Pttp] Home** \- I have literally no idea why this exists, but at least Leadbottom got his own something of a story!

**[Pttp] A Wise Decision** \- Not written at the same time I got my wisdom teeth taken out, but I think the idea was spurred from mention of it later on. I’ve debated making one similar for Blade, Nick, maybe some other characters, but I think the one is fine as-is. If anyone else wants to make a fic around this idea though, please, be my guest! I have too many ideas, someone take these off of my hands for me!

**[Pttp] Something In The Water** \- I went testing the waters of making more PG-13 moving towards R-rated fics, but obviously this was just the beginning of that road - and, looking back at it, my new stuff makes this piece look like a fucking virgin.

**[Pttp] From V To U** \- Damn I got people busting my _ass_ about this one! The information behind the name that I got is cool, but this is MY headcanon, and this is how _I’m_ gonna perceive his namesake! _My_ Maru’s legal name is Marv, now y’all shush!

**[Pttp] Trick of the Treats** \- The beginning of my insatiable thirst for both hurt/comfort whumpfics and Blade/Nick fluffs and romances… Also totally not the infant-level beginning to A Fulfilling Evening. (“I shouldn’ta said that.”)

**[Pttp] Nightmare** \- Okay. This was a vent piece. I was NOT in a good place, mentally, around the time that I was writing this. Actually, I believe this is when I was on the verge of suicidal, because, as mentioned, early 2020 is when shit went _down_ , and I was helpless to stop it and helpless to end it (because the problems were NOT over here, they were ongoing and being ignored, and it was slowly killing me inside. But, that’s a whole other can of worms). Basically, Dusty represents myself, trying to run away from a situation that kept rearing its ugly head and dragging me down to the point of suffocation. Both ways, we were outmatched and forced to give up. We had no choice.

**[Pttp] Unconditional** \- Name came from Katy Perry’s song. This is the reprise to Nightmare, where I finally realized the silver lining in my hellish situation, which is that I did - and _do_ \- still have people who cared about my well being, and were there for me in my darkest moments, and I have my life to thank to them for not giving up on me, even though they’ve every reason and opportunity to. To my Proppie trio (duo at the time of this story), thank you.

**[Pttp] Everything I Need** \- _Iiiii chiiiickeeened oooouuut of thiiiis!_ And it's very obvious. This was my first EVER explicit piece, so I was admittedly very nervous and had no idea what I was doing. It’s still a thing, but it’s safer than what was initially planned.

**[Pttp] Hell Has Hostess Snacks** \- I fixed my previous chickening out. And it was beautiful. This might actually still be my favorite one, NSFW-wise anyways. Well...yeah. Maybe not my favorite-favorite, but it’s in the top 3 I think.

**[Pttp] Sick, But Hungry** \- WHUUUUUUMP! Whump, and my sweet potato. Sweet potato whump! That’s what I wanted to write, and that’s what I did! There’s nothing else to be said about this other than it is just that.

**[Pttp] Wintertime** \- O-kay, funny story! ...This was supposed to be the opening chapter to a _horror story crossover_. Yup. Obviously it isn’t that now! But the idea of the horror crossover is still present. I plan to do something with it, eventually. We’ll see what happens!

**[Pttp] Dancing...I Think** \- I think I probably could have made this better? I can see how it’s tough writing threesomes, because it's all about balancing the characters around equally. Nick may have gotten the short end of the stick, but at least he has that other fic where he gets to best Dusty.

**[Pttp] Lionized** \- I pitied Ripslinger for the fact I’ve never written him. And now, I really am coming to understand my headcanon version of him, which is good because I want to be able to write more Ripslinger drabbles. Actually! Guys! I have one of those baking right now, so if I don’t have another random idea that’s finished first, it will be the FIRST story up on the new 2021 ‘PttP’ series!

**[Pttp] The Truffle Tussle** \- More Ripslinger pity. Skipper too! This was just a humorous thing to make. I want to write more scenes of characters either fighting or tussling like this.

**[Pttp] Sugar & Spice** \- I desired a world in which Nick and Dusty get to have a little fun with each other. This is that realm. I literally have no excuses! That’s all this story was ever designed to be! This is my guilty pleasure fic and you are welcome to it if you so desire. Or not! There’s a skip option too!

**[Pttp] Seven of Swords** \- As the note mentions, this was _kind of_ a vent piece, but not really. So basically, I had a revelation during the making of this, again, around personal matters and what-not, and this was basically me saying “I’m not going to let this pain and loss keep me here forever, I _have_ to keep going no matter what”. So it’s a good vent, in a matter of speaking. I’m still not sure who the ‘new recruit’ is, or was. I know they represent the old me at the very least. Maybe I’ll do something about their real character one day.

**[Pttp] The Newly-Weds Game** \- Prompted by _Pinterest!_ I am addicted to the site to an unhealthy level. And the humor in this was GOLD. This story is also connected to ‘Early Spring’, if that wasn’t obvious. It’s my little sandbox AU.

**[Pttp] Carpe Diem** \- My first introduction of the loving, the snuggable, huggable, and adorable, _Oscar_! Oscar is Dusty’s boi and later-on life companion, and I do have plans on introducing him as a character, and how they met and then got together. But that is a tale to tell in the future of 2021!

**Frostbitten** \- A continuation of Three’s a Crowd, furthering the idea, as I said prior, of Blade and Skipper trying to interact with one another. They’re an interesting duo to work with for sure, but one that is hot as _fuck_ when they get it just right.

**[THF] To Fall** \- This is a headcanon idea I have honestly _not seen before_ , which is why I had the inclination to make it. Most people who humanize Dusty for anything will typically use the same ‘the _plane_ is busted’ version, or that he just experiences pain now and again somewhere. My Dusty - my _Liam_ \- he _literally_ has incurable epilepsy. Incurable, as in Maru can’t fix that at the end of the movie. He can fix his body, but not the seizures. Thankfully, his are few and far between, and not the intense spasm-ridden mess most people think of when they think of seizures, but they do still exist in the humanized variant (specifically that one. The humanized one is my excuse to go way off the rails into canon divergence), and they will remain with him until the day he dies.

**[THF] The Scarlet Moment** \- It’s exactly what it looks like. It’s my excuse for some Blade/Nick lovin’. I’m also using it - and, Human Files as a whole - just to experiment with canon divergence, to see how far away I can push a humanized version, and just...I dunno, I’m toying with it all. I’m learning how to write hoomans so that when I go to write originals I’m not like “fuck, I forgot about h a n d s ”.

**A Fulfilling Evening** \- … _I don’t want to talk about this one, it already e x p o s e s me way too much, so just keep scrolling, keep scrolling, nothing to see here, nope!_

**Smoke Signal** \- Made by request, but I have to say I really enjoyed doing a Blade/Windlifter piece like this one. As I’m getting into the more recent chapters of Emergency, I’ve been trying to incorporate Windlifter into the story more, and I’m finding he really is a cool character to write, just...a difficult one. He has his moments, apparently! XD

**“Then There’s The Appendix.”** \- More whump! Though I have forgotten why I chose to go with appendicitis as the condition. It may have been in a conversation….who cares, it’s more _whump_ dammit! I demand the making of more whump! _Feed me, peasants!!!_

*ahem* So anyways, I do believe that concludes my master list. I’m not including _The Chopper & Crophopper_ or _Sleepless in Propwash_ , since those are old stories made in 2016 that don’t technically count.

Okay, that’s everything? I think that is everything. I’m getting tired of typing now, and I’m sure anyone reading is getting tired of...well, reading. XD

Thank you everyone who tuned in, at some point or another, because every view or favorite or comment is immensely appreciated, and thank y’all for sticking by me! Especially my little Discord cult, you all know who you are!

This is the end of my ‘Props to the Proppies’ 2020 pile, but not of the series as it stands! We will have greater adventures to come in the 2021 pile - of which I have a special name picked out already. Stay tuned!  
And here’s to hoping for the end of Emergency, and a better year for everybody!

Go be cactuses, err cacti! Whatever you prefer!  
(Because they’re tall, sturdy, and of course, forever surrounded by pricks!)

-Pen


End file.
